The Thaumaturger
by jasters1
Summary: Crossover with Vampire: Bloodlines. Harry nicks a timeturner and get's himself in serious trouble. He is banished to Los Angeles, and his troubles just get worse...
1. Chapter 1

Title: The Thaumaturger

Author: Jasters1

Summery: Crossover with Harry Potter and Vampire: Masquerade: Bloodlines. Harry manages to break the law and increase his rate of aging, and is forced by Dumbledore to hide out in Los Angeles until he gets around to helping. While there he meets a mysterious woman in a bar... This is a cross I've wanted to see for a while – and you know the old saying, 'if you want something done right, put you're money where you're mouth is'. Or Something like that. Hopefully this might inspire other authors to take up this cross... Anyone?

Rating: MA – for safety – going to include some serious bad language (You've all met Smiling Jack, right?) and of course pretty heavy violence in later chapters

Distribution: Up ficwad and ffnet. If you want it, take it. Just drop me an email, and make sure my names on it.

Pairing: None yet, probably Harry/OFC

Feedback: Please, feedback is the only payment I get! If you want a response though (if you ask a 'whats up with...' for example) Send me an email or leave you're email address.

Incidently people, this is only the prelude to the story – and it will probably be a while before any more is written (final exams coming up...). My final exam is on November 1, so I won't be writing any more until then. Hopefully chapters will be much longer than this...

Disclaimer: This old chestnut, okay, I don't own Harry Potter. I believe actually, that a lady named JK Rowling does. Yeah, I know! I thought it was just an urban myth. Who knew? Vampire:Bloodlines was created by Troika Games, and is set in the universe created by White Wolf. If you don't have this game – firstly why are you reading a cross with it? Secondly – get it. Troika have (as I undersand) gone under, so you can get it pretty cheap – though it's rated 18+. I own crap all in this story, all rights reserved by their respective holders, etc etc... All the cool quotes I start chapters with are taken from the Vampire: The Masquerade site.

-----------------------------

_For uncountable centuries,_

_the clans ruled the nights._

_The greatest human kingdoms_

_were but playthings to these so-called **Kindred.**_

_Their power was matched only_

_by their arrogance --_

_until_

_the coming of the_

_fires of the Inquisition._

_Vulnerable for the first time,_

_seven of these clans united to govern the rest._

_They called themselves the **Camarilla**_

"Vampire: The Masquerade"

"Another scotch thanks" Harry ordered.

"Here you go English" The bartender replied cheerfully, passing across a cup of the amber liquid. Harry took a deep sip, and let his thought return to the past. How could things had gone so increadably bad? One minute, he's depressed, next he gets a great idea to fight against Voldemort, then this. Everything had turned to crap, and chances were he would die of old age within the year. Old age! Harry sighed in resignation. There was nothing for it, no matter how many times he reminiced.

After Sirius's death, he had been shattered, and locked away to stew in his own anger, steadily growing argrier and angrier. If only he had not been fooled! If only he hadn't been stupid enough to try to rescue Sirius himself! But over time, his self-rage had turned into anger at others. Why hadn't Dumbledore trained him to fight? Why had he stuck him with that git Snape? Why coudn't Snape get over the fact that his childhood enemy was dead? Next time, Harry had vowed to himself, he would be ready. But how? If, as Dumbledore said, it would fall to him to defeat Voldemort, how the hell was he supposed to match wands with an extremely powerful and knowledgable wizard? With his current arsenal of tickling charms and disarming hexes, the only chance he had to win was if Voldemort was so stunned by his ineptitude that he accidently tripped and broke his neck. Even if he trained now, there was no way he could learn enough over the break – even if Dumbledore let him cancel all of his sixth year classes, he still would have no chance on catching up with the fifty odd years of experience Voldemort had on him. His glum mood was not helped by his OWLS, as apart from an Outstanding in defence, his best mark was an E in charms and transfiguration. He had been particularly devastated – though not particularly surprised – by an A in potions; a result which, unless McGonagall pulled some miracle, pretty much ended his goal of becoming an auror. He could just imagine the pleasure Snape took in that score – well at least he wouldn't have to take any more of Snape's crap anymore. Harry's summer was looking despondant, until the idea came upon him. It was a brilliant idea, truly Hermoine worthy. Harry honestly couldn't remember a single idea so genius. He remembered dancing around his room – though as quietly as posible to avoid waking the walrus otherwise known as Uncle Vernon – and gleefuly outlining the idea to Hedwig.

"You see girl! I've come up with a way I can catch up with Voldemort!" He claimed excitedly.

Hedwig hooted doubtfully.

"Oi, you havn't even heard my idea yet!" He exclaimed defensively.

Hedwig hooted again and ruffled her feathers.

"Some of my ideas works!" He protested

Hedwig hooted again, giving Harry the distinct feeling he was being mocked.

"Well, what about when Dobby tried to stop us from getting to Hogwarts? We got there didn't we?" Harry answered, triumphantly grinning.

If birds could sigh, Harry was sure that Hedwig had done so at this point, before clicking her beak, and hooting again.

"Er, well..." Harry stuttered before ralying valiently "the point is we didn't get expelled or arrested, and we got to Hogwarts on time!" he smiled, "well mostly," he added under his breath with a frown.

Hedwig stared at him for a second before hooting wryly.

"Oh right" Harry answered, embarrasedly rubbing the back of his neck "I guess it kinda was Ron's idea..."

Hedwig rolled her eyes at him before hooting encouragingly. "Well this is a good idea. You remember when Hermoine had the time turner?"

Hedwig hooted affirmatively, a worried note entering her tone.

"Well," Harry continued excitedly, either not noticing or not caring, "I'm going to get my hands on it, then use it to keep going back in time until I'm strong enough to fight Voldermort!"

Hedwigs beak dropped, and she wobbled briefly on her perch before letting loose a spray of hooting and flapping that gave Harry the feeling that she didn't approve.

"It's a good plan!" He protested. Hedwig squarked rudely, before turning her back on him. "Well, I think it's a good plan" He sulked to himself quietly.

Harry sat at his creaky desk and pulled out a piece of parchment. Firsly he would need a timeturner. But from what he remembered Hermoine telling him, McGonagall had kept it after the third year had ended for some reason. So, it would probably be still in her office.

Harry picked up his quill, and carefully wrote 1: Get timeturner from McGonagall's office.

He tapped his quill against his teeth thoughtfully. Next he would need somewhere to train. If he kept coming back to the same time, it would need to be somewhere big enough that all the Harry's could train in peace, and somewhere with enough food to survive.

Harry carefully transcribed 2: Find somewhere big enough to train.

Next, he would need things to learn. Blundering about with a wand without any direction, no matter how long he took, didn't seem a productive means of learning.

Harry wrote 3: Find books and information about spells.

Harry looked at the list in concernation. "Where the hell can I find all of these?" He asked out loud "First I have to find a way to break into Hogwarts, then I have to find somewhere big enough for a whole school full of me to live and train," he added for Hedwig's benefit. Hedwig ignored him. Harry stared hard at the parchment as though it would reveal it's secrets. "Somewhere big enough to train, and a library of spell knowledge. Hmm." Harry thearised out loud, drumming his fingers on his desk.

Hedwig held out as long as she could before turning with a huff and hooting at him exasperatedly.

"What's that?" Harry murmured, his attention elsewhere. Hedwig flew to his shoulder with a huff, cuffing the back of his head while doing so, before hooting again.

"I don't understand girl," Harry replied "look I'm trying to work out where I can stay when I'm training, so unless you have any bright ideas..."

Hedwig rolled her eyes at him in irritation, before hooting insistently.

"Hogwarts?" Harry repeated, puzzled. "Yes, I have to break into Hogwarts at some point to get the timeturner, but I"ll worry about that when I work this out..."

Litterally hopping on his shoulder in exasperation, Hedwig let loose with a barage of loud hoots. Harry, unnerved by this display carefully stroked his pet in an attempt to calm her.

"Look girl, I know that breaking into Hogwarts won't be easy, but we can't worry about that until we have somewhere to go. Somewhere as big as a school..." Harry trailed off, his realisation coming over his sudenly. Hedwig hooted in self-satisfaction as he slapped himself on the forehead "Of course! I'm so stupid! We can stay at Hogwarts!"

Hedwig hooted in smug agreement.

"During the summer no teachers are around, there's a huge library, and the elves can cook for us!"

Hedwig hooted in self-satisfaction, ruffling her feathers importantly.

"Hogwarts" Harry breathed, before turning to Hedwig "Why didn't you think of that girl? The way you were going on about breaking in I'm surprised you didn't put the two together." Hedwig stopped absolutely still, turning to face him.

"Hedwig?" Harry asked tentatively, slightly wary of the look in her eye.

With raptor speed, Hedwig bit his nose. Hard. She then returned to her perch, facing away from Harry. "Ow! Harry yelled, gingerly touching his bleeding nose. "What the hell was that about? Bloody bird" He muttered, turning back to his paper with a wary glance at the fuming owl.

"Now all I need is a way to get into Hogwarts," he mused "I wish there was someone helpful," He directed loudly at the back of his bird, who continued to ignore him, before continuing "who could help me get into Hogwarts," He mused outloud. A quiet pop gave him half a second of warning before a green blur slammed into his legs. Harry collapsed with an undignified yelp, luckily missing any sharp corners, and fell against the wall. Feeling his legs trapped in a painful vice he reached desperately for his wand, before sudenly interpreting the high pitched babble coming out of the creature.

"Dobby had been waiting for Harry-Potter-sir to call him! Dobby was hoping that Harry-Potter-sir had wanted Dobby and Dobby is being only too happy to serve the wonderful, most powerful, most generous wizard in the world; no, Dobby is not being just happy - Dobbly is being honoured! Dobby is not worth to serve the greatest wizard in the world..."

"Dobby! Dobby, get off!" Harry hissed desperately attempting to pry the elf from his legs.

"Dobby is sorry sir" Dobby said, ears drooping "Dobby is bad elf scaring the great Harry Potter sir."

"No Dobby, it's okay" Harry quickly said, yanking the lamp Dobby had picking up presumebly to punish himself with. Harry cursed under his breath as Dobby's eyes filled up with tears.

"Harry Potter is the most merciful, most generous..." Dobby's lower lip wobbled dangerously,

"Look Dobby," Harry anxiously cut in, before Dobby could burst into happy wailings "Can you help me with a few errands?"

Dobby sniffed, before manfully (elffully?) pulled himself together "Yes Harry Potter sir, Dobby is being happy to be helping the greatest wizard in the world."

"Good" Harry smiled in relief "The main thing I need is to get into Hogwarts... what?" Harry asked as Dobby's ears dropped.

"Dobby is sorry," the elf began "But Dobby is not being able to take Harry Potter sir to Hoggywart, because Dobby is working for Hoggywart." Dobby dropped his head in shame, before looking around for something to bang himself against. Seeing the elf eye his firebolt speculatively, he hurredly cut in,

"What if you didn't work for Hoggy... Hogwarts?" Harry asked.

The elf's ears perked back up "If Dobby was working for Harry Potter sir, Dobby could help, yes!" The elf beamed,

"Er, work for me?" Harry asked, cautiously. Hermoine woudn't like this...

"Yes!" Dobby nodded his head so fast, his ears flapped. "If Dobby is working for Harry Potter sir, Dobby can be helping Harry Potter sir with everything." He beamed.

"Well, I guess that's okay..." Harry trailed off uncertainly, sending a pleading glance at his owl, who pretended to be asleep.

Dobby squeeled in a pitch so high it hurt Harry's ears, before slamming once more into Harry's legs "Dobby is so happy! Dobby is honoured to be working for best, most powereful, most merciful, the greatest..." Dobby burst into happy wails, unable to continue. Ignoring Hedwig, who appeared – in her avian way – to be laughing her head off, Harry tentatively patted Dobby on the head, as the elf slowly regained his composure. "Master won't be sorry! Dobby will be best house elf ever!" Dobby proclaimed, releasing Harry's legs. Harry winced and slyly massaged some life back into his lower regions, took a second to process that.

"What?! Master?" Harry stuttered, vissions of death by an angry SPEW wielding Hermoine. Dobby nodded, a beaming smile on his face.

"Yes! Master is Dobby's new Master! Dobby is so happy!"

"Good, good!" Harry replied hurredly, seeing the elf begin to tear up again. "I need you're help to get to Hogwarts," Dobby nodded emphatically, before popping out of the room, and popping back in a second later.

"Here master!" Dobby beamed holding out a wrinkled sock. Harry stared at the sock in slight bemusement. The sock was brown. Harry however had a sneaking suspicion that it had started life white. A brief whiff asured Harry that the sock was well used, and apparently never washed in it's long life span.

"Dobby?" Harry queried, moving discretely out of olfactive range "That's a sock."

"Yes master!" Dobby agreed with a smile "Master is most smartest wizard!" Ignoring an amused squark from Hedwig and scanning the elf's face for sarcasm, he was a little pertubed that Dobby appeared completely sincere.

"How will this help?" Harry asked with forced patience. Dobby's ears lowered secretively

"This is being Proffessor Dumblydore's portkey." Dobby explained in a futive whisper "It will be taking Master to the great hall."

Harry looked at the sock with renewed interest, as Dobby placed it carefully on the ground. "Well Dobby," Harry grinned "Looks like we are in business."

"Yes master!" Dobby agreed with a grin, before curiousity came up "Master," He queried tentatively "What business is we being in?"

"The good kind!" Harry grinned.

It took Harry about ten minutes to pack his room – with Dobby's enthusiastic help, and about another ten to work up the courage to take hold of the sock; and using the activation word (lemon drop) Harry was at Hogwarts.

Then, in the company of the ghosts and Dobby, he proceeded to live out his days studying – over and over and over, continuously studying a day, then repeating that same twentyfour hours, then studying again. He had worked out earlier that about thirty or so Harry's would be pushing the limited supplies in the kitchens available during the break. Luckily for him, not only could he train in the library, and abandoned classrooms, but if he needed anything else – or simply more room, the Room of Requirements was happy to oblige. The only people he needed to avoid was Filch and Mrs Norris, who during breaks appeared hard at work repairing damage sustained the previous year – most caused by the Weasley twins, if his ranting Harry heard one night while sneaking past was any indicator. The only other person living in the castle was Professor Snape, who apparently had no home to go to. It wasn't as hard to avoid Snape, as he lurked in his dungeons only emerging to go to the greathall for dinner. With the use of his map, it was easy enough to avoid detection for a good month. Harry had however quite lost track of time – though it would probably suprise his that he had, in the period of a month, spend three years training. That jump however, from fifteen years old to eighteen was not the worst that happened.

"Harry." Harry jerked with suprise. It had been a long time since he had herd any other voice than his own or Dobby's. He turned to see Dumbledore gazing at him, a disapointed look in his eye. "Come with me, please." Saying no more, Dumbledore turned, and left the room of requirements. Harry followed silently as the pair made their way to the Headmaster's office, posible excuses running through his head. "Sit," Dumbledore commanded, before taking a seat at his desk. Harry sat down uncomfortably as Dumbledore stared silently for a second, disapointment still in his gaze. "Harry, I want to ask you why you did this" Dumbledore asked quietly.

"Did what?" Harry shot back defensively. A scene from a tv show ran through his head for a second 'you got nothin' on me coppa!'

Dumbledore sighed sadly "Must we do this?" He mused rhetorically before continuing before Harry could reply "I know that you left the safety of your aunt's home, despite what I had told you, putting yourself in danger, as well as every order member who was subsiquently forced to stop what they were doing for the war effort to look for you., and causing much anguish for your friends." He stated quietly. "I know you broke into your Head of House's office, and stole a restricted ministry artifact – possesion of such carrying a strict penalty." Dumbledore continued, "I know that you have used said artifact recklessly, putting not only yourself in danger, but the entire world in danger of a cataclismic event." Dumbledore stopped, an uncomfortable silence falling over the room. Even the portraits had stopped snoring and were listening in interestedly "Do you have anything to say for yourself?" Dumbledore asked in that same tone.

"Yes" Harry answered, gathering his anger again "I did what you refused to do. I wanted to learn how to fight – how to defeat Voldemort."

Dumbledore sighed again, slumping in his seat "I had told you already Harry," He chided "It is not magical strength or knowledge that will help you defeat Voldemort but..."

"But what?" Harry replied derisively "What's going to help me defeat Voldemort? Not knowing how to defend myself." He snorted, ignoring the tisking and whispers of 'how rude!' of the portraits.

If anything, Dumbledore looked even more depressed at that. "Did you really think it was worth the sacrifice though?" He asked.

"What sacrifice?" Harry shot back slightly confused.

"Your age." Dumbledore answered grimly "How long have you been using that timeturner?"

With a start, Harry realised that he had quite lost track. "Dobby" He commanded. Dobby popped into view immediately "Master called?" Dobby asked, before cowing slightly in Dumbledores gaze "You are working for Harry now, are you?" Dumbledore asked gently. Dobby ralied under this reminder, and faced Dumbedores gaze proudly "Dobby is working for Harry Potter, the greatest wizard in the world!"

"I see," Dumbledore smiled, his customary twinkle returning to his eye for a brief minute "Congratulations Dobby, lemon drop?" Dobby hesitantly took a yellow sweet, examined it for a second, popped it in his mouth, before discretely spitting it out on the floor when the headmaster turned back to Harry.

"Dobby," Harry asked, attempting to mask his humour, "How long have I been using the time turner?"

"Master has been using the time turner for three years" Dobby replied promptly. Harry sat back in shock.

"Thank you Dobby," Harry weakly answered. Dobby popped out again.

18! He was now 18! "That's not too bad," Harry muttered, not sure who he was trying to convince "If i'm 18 I might have a better chance of surviving whatever happens this year..." He trailed off as Dumbledore shook his head sadly at him.

"I'm afraid that there is more." Dumbledore stated, "I take it you did not study the effects of long term timeturner use?" Harry wordlessly shook his head, "Well, I'm afraid that with the amount you must have used it, to spend three years in a month..." Dumbledore shook his head in disbelief "I'm afraid that your process of aging has increased, and will continue to increase exponentially."

"What?" Harry gasped, heart beating painfully.

Harry didn't remember much of what Dumbledore said after that, snipits such as his curent age was actually 20, not 18 as it should be, and, as Dumbledore's quick calculations found, would age to 25 by the end of July.

To add insult to injury, it turned out that fast aging was an effect of only several artifacts in the Wizarding world – most of them dark, and all of them restricted by the British Ministery of Magic. In fact, Dumbledore had concluded sadly, the only thing which could be done would be to queitly get Harry out of the country, come up with a solution to halt the effects when time permited, then explain that the effect was done in a country with more relaxed laws by an an object not restricted there. Unfortunatly, Dumbledore had said, it would take some time for this to happen, as the order had a month of work it had to catch up with, he had said with a pointed glance, it wouldn't be possible to do until October, so until then Harry would have to make do in Los Angeles, living off a small amount of money Dumbledore had graciously granted him. Of course while a small apartment would be set up, no one could be sent with him for various reasons, and perhaps Harry should think before trying such foolish behaviour again. Dumbledore had shaken his head at him, disapointment in his voice, and banished him to America until he could be bothered to help. If Harry hadn't been so devistated by the events, he most certainly would have done a far better job of the headmaster's office than he had done at the end of the year. As Dumbledore had said, there was no way to reverse the effects – he was, for all extents and purposes, 20, and would continue to age at fast speed. In essence, the longer it took to find a way to halt the progress, the older he would be and the more time would be taken from his life. Those two years he had already aged he would never get back and, if Dumbledore was being honest, he soonest he would be able to stop the effects – in November, he would be in his mid fifties – older in fact than Snape, and Mr and Mrs Weasley.

Which brought him here. 'Celebrating' his 25th birthday in a shady bar in Santa Monica. Well, Harry thought grimly, ordering another scotch, at least I don't have to worry about getting carded. The thought made him smile for a second.

"Penny for your thoughts" A smoky voice by his ear purred. Though it was close enough to normally make him jump, Harry had enough alcohol in him that his reactions were dulled. He turned slowly, to see an increadably hot woman staring at him, with a scrutinising look in her eyes.

"Wha?" He asked stupidly. The woman laughed, a tinkling sound which sent a pleasant shiver to go down his spine.

"I was wondering what it was to make you smile. I've been watching you, and you've looked so down" She answered with a smile.

Harry shrugged "Just celebrating my birthday" he said with a sigh, taking a sip from the drink in front of him. He winced slightly at the taste, before the fierce liquid left his mouth with a pleasant numbness.

"Really?" the woman asked, raising a sculptured eyebrow, "Then may I ask the birthday boy's age?"

Harry gave a single bark of laughter "I guess I'm twenty five" He answered bitterly, slamming down the rest of his scotch, coughing as the harsh drink raked his throat.

The woman smiled, though amused by his antics "I take it that it's not a happy occasion?" She asked rhetorically "Let me guess, girlfriend broke up with you? Lose your job?" She asked, her voice somewhere between sympathetic and teasing. She leaned into him slightly, a friendly gesture that nevertheless caused a pleasant tingle to run through Harry's body.

"Just aging" Harry answered somberly after a brief pause to recompose himself "It's amazing, how people don't think about life, how short it is," he continued absently, not noticing the knowing expression on the woman's face, "One minute you're in your prime, then you're an old man, then it's all over." He sighed, slumping down.

"You seem a little young to be worring about old age." Her voice held a questioning note.

"It seems it's all I think about," He answered quietly. He sighed again, before looking down at his watch. 2.30. Time to go. Harry sighed and stood up "Look, I enjoyed our chat, but I've got to go. Goodbye."

"Wait," She called, placing a smooth hand on his forearm. Harry paused and turned to her questioningly. She hesitated for a second, an inscrutable look in her eye, before she appeared to come to a decision "What is it about you?" She mumbled lowly to herself, before speaking addressing Harry again, "Come with me, I have something to show you." She smiled invitingly.

Harry paused for a second as suspision rose within him. Was she a death eater who had recognised him? He shook himself out of his stupidity. Not only did no-one yet know he was in America, he was completely unrecognisable to what he looked like before. Where he was once short and skinny, his body had filled out in all the strength and power of a man in his prime, and he stood at a respectable 6'2. His hair, once an unruly black, had softened with a slight red tinge reminicent of his mother. Rather than kill him, Harry had a pretty good idea of what the woman – whos name he still didn't know he realised with a start – wanted to do with him; and her feline grace and smoking beauty had little Harry quite definate on what his decision should be. And, since his lower brain had got him in far less trouble than his upper, he decided to hell with it, and took the ladies outstretched hand. She beamed at him, lighting up her pale face, before tugging him gently towards the exit, every male including Harry thinking the same thing 'Lucky bastard'.

Her apartment was small, though well kept. Harry noted as he absently tugged off his jacket and slung it on a couch. "Into the bedroom!" The woman called, leading the way. Harry moved faster, as she disapearing into the room before stopping dead in the doorway, mouth agape. The woman grinned, pleased at his reaction. "Come on," she invited softly, lying across the bed. Harry moved as if compelled, brief thoughts of 'how the hell did she strip so quickly' running into and out of his brain, into the womans arms.

Harry was happy. It was probably the happiest he had ever been. He lay on his back, the woman whos name he still didn't know snuggled against his side, with the biggest grin on his face. He was infact somewhat worried that he would damage his jaw if his smile got any bigger – in fact he didn't think he could remove it if he tried. And why would it! He asked himself with a triumphant mental laugh. He smiled up at the celing. Sometimes in the past he wasn't sure about religion, the idea of God – any faith he did have wasn't from the Dursleys – 'good' Protestant family who sat in church piously every Sunday, though didn't seem to follow any of it's teachings. All the things that had happened in his life, his parents being killed, all the danger he had been through at school, Sirius – how could there be a God if there was all those bad things happening? And if there was a God, it was obvious that He didn't like Harry one bit. But Harry could say with absolute faith, for the first time in his life, that he was completely certain that not only was there a God, but He was very happy with Harry. Harry grinned at the celing "thanks mate," he mouthed cheerily "I always knew you were a good bloke."

As though a cue, the woman shifted in his arms, and raised herself up over him. He smiled at her "Hello." He smiled, she grinned back at his wide smile.

"Hello yourself," She laughed "You're in a good mood."

Harry shrugged modestly "Well you had a lot to do with that!" He chuckled, running a hand up her smooth side "I must thank you, that was worth seeing."

His smile faltered slightly as her grin took a mysterious edge "Oh no, that was just the prelude" She purred, straddling him. He grinned before a shiver of unease ran through him as she moved with a quickness that surprised him, holding his wrists to the bed, and moving her mouth to his neck. Harry shivered at her close contact remembering suddenly that her teeth had seemed... unusually sharp. Her tongue danced briefly against his neck before she retreated to his ear. She blew sofly, causing a brief pleasurable shiver, "I have something to show you," she whispered, her voice thick with promise. A second later, a scream rang out.


	2. Chapter 2

AN: This scene is almost entirely canon Vampire: Bloodlines – for example the Prince's speech is entirely ripped from the game itself – every line he has (until the scene in the theatre is over) was written by someone else. And this point actually brings me to a dilemma – should I continue with the Bloodlines storyline, of have Harry depart completely from it? From the reviews I've got, It doesn't seem that Bloodlines is a familiar tale... Write back with your thoughts. At the end of the chapter I will (dependant vastly on what the reviews suggest) choose the direction this story will go – canon Bloodlines or back to London.

The Camarilla existed first and foremost to enforce an edict

-- A **Masquerade**--

by which to hide.

They erased all evidence of **Themselves** from sight of the living and slowly

-- over many, many years--

They became as myths to the minds of man.

And thus concealed they have continued to grow in power

And to guide **Humanity** to suit their whims.

"Vampire: The Masquerade"

Head pounding.

The ceiling spun.

Agonising pain.

The world darkened.

Silence.

Harry shot up with a gasp. His body felt... strange. Something was wrong with him. He felt cold, so cold. A quick glance around showed that he was still in the bed, naked. The woman was sitting in a chair against the wall, a secretive smile on her face. Harry opened his mouth to ask what happened when a splintering crash spun him around. Before he could move, a shape leapt into the room, slamming a wood stake through his heart. The world blacked out once more.

"My apologies for disrupting any business or interfering with prior engagements you may have had this evening."

Harry's consciousness returned in a burst of pain from his chest. He looked around woozily.

"It's unfortunate that the incident that gathers us tonight is a troubling one."

He was on his knees somewhere, in a theatre from the looks of it. His hands were bound behind him, and someone held him down with a strong hand.

"We are here because the laws that bind our society – the laws that are the fabric of our existance... have been broken."

Next to him, the woman was similarly bound. Harry looked around in growong fear. What the hell was going on?

"As Prince, under Camerilla Law, I am within my rights to grant or deny the Kindrid of this city the privilage of siring Childre."

The room was dark. He was on the stage, as though in some strange play, with perhaps thirty odd seats filled. The people sat in groups around the room, solumny watching the stage.

"Many of you have come to me seeking permission, and I have endorsed some of these requests."

Harry blearily focused on the speaking man – or Prince, as he called himself. He was pale, as was all the people in the room seemed to be, elegantly dressed in an expensive suit.

"However," The Prince continued, gesturing briefly towards the woman "The accused that sits before you tonight was not refused permission." He turned back to the crowd, "Indeed, my permission was never sought at all. They were caught shortly after the embrace of this," At this point the man gestured towards Harry "... Childer." The Prince paused for a second, before continuing. "It pains me to announce the sentence. As some of you may know, the penalty for this transgression... is death." The Prince paused, as some of the crowd, most specifically a clump sitting together – Harry noted – reacted slightly to this. The Prince opened his arms placatingly before continuing. "Know that I am no more an adjudicator, than I am a servant to the law that governs us all." The clump shifted restlessly, but other than that, the crowd stilled.

The Prince turned back to the crowd, with a passionately earnest expression, "Let tonights proceedings serve as a reminder to our community that we must adhere to the code that binds our society..." He paused to stare directly at the small group sitting in the middle "Lest we endanger all of our blood." The group, seemingly unimpressed, stared back at the Prince.

Sudenly the Prince turned away from the crowd, towards the woman "Forgive me," He whispered, before turning back to the croud. "Let the sentence commence." A huge figure, unseen by Harry, stepped out of the shadows. He pulled a huge sword from his back, larger than Harry himself was, and leveled it at the woman's neck.

"No" Harry whispered, horrified, flashbacks of Buckbeak running through his head. Were they really... Harry shut his eyes as the blade decended, the only sound being a sizzling. Harry opened his eyes again in shock. Where the woman once knelt, there was nothing. She was completely gone. Harry stared, numb. He had not known the woman well, but she had given him fond memories, and he had liked her. Now she was gone.

"Which leads to the fate of the ill-begotton child."

Harry's blood ran cold. Apparently, they had not forgotten him. The Prince faced back to the croud, his refined tone dispasionate. "Without a sire, most childer are doomed to walk the earth, never knowing their place, their responsibility, and most importantly," He said, not glancing at Harry "The laws they must obey." The Prince paused at this point again, as though to drive the point home. The feeling of unease and wrongness which Harry had been experiencing since he had woken had turned into a ball of dread in his stomach. He tried to speak up in his own defence, but his voice failed him, and he was only able to mouth wordlessly 'twenty five!' he screamed in his head 'I'm only twenty five!'

"Therefore..." the prince continued, "I have decided that..."

He trailed off, eyes sharpening as in the troublesome clump a figure stood up.

"This is bullshit!" The figure yelled at the stage, jumping to his feet. The others in that clump stood as well, clearly waiting to back up the shouting man. The Prince seemed taken aback. For a long moment, he looked to the other figures in the crowd, up in the rampart, across at the base, even off stage to the left.

"If Mr Rodriguez would let me finish?" He continued smoothly, this quick inspection apparently meaning something Harry could not make out. "I have decided to let this kindred... live." Harry slumped, relief courseing through him. He had no idea what was going on, but being allowed to live seemed to be a good thing. "He shall be instructed in the ways of our kind, and granted the same rights." Harry slumped on his knees, his muscles weak. He noted that the clump of troublesome people – Kindred? Harry thought in confusion – had gotten up and started to leave. "Let noone say I am unsympathetic to the plights and causes of this community." The prince said, a touch of anger in his voice, before his tone returned to it's refined politeness "I thank you all for attending these proceedings, and I hope their significance is not lost. Goodnight." The prince bowed slightly.

"Your sire, tragic, I do apologise" The prince stated smoothly as Harry was released. "However," He continued, walking away forcing Harry to follow, "there are rules to which we all must..." the prince hesitated, as though serching for the word "must... adhere." Much of what the prince said slipped out of Harry's head quickly, as though in a dream. Harry nodded along dumbly as the prince continued, speaking about respect, and homour, and law and order. Finally dismissed with a simple 'Good evening.' Harry stumbled from the now abandoned theatre in a daze. What the hell had happened? What had they done to him? What the hell was all that crap?

A bout of laughter caught his attention, and he spun to see a biker looking bloke leaning against a nearby wall. "Increadable ain't it?" The figure laughted "What a fucking scene! They just plop you out like a fucking newborn, and sent you out into the streets," the figure laughed again in good humour.

"Who are you? What do you want?" Harry asked,

"I'm Jack." The figure answered with a smile "And I'm offering help."

"Yes, please." Harry answered in relief. Any guidence on what happened was needed.

"Cool," Jack smiled, "First things first, have you had anything to drink yet?" Jack continued.

"Drink? Er, what do you mean?" Harry asked, puzzled, though a sinking suspicion rose in him.

Jack burst out laughing again, the answer aparently a good joke "Oh man, we're really busting a cherry here!" Jack laughed for another second, before pulling himself together "Okay, here's the deal, kid. You're a vampire now. Blood? It's your champaine now, it's your rack of lamb, it's your fucking heroin." He smiled. Harry nodded weakly; though he was not realy surprised, confirmation still hit him hard. Vampire. What did he know of vampires? Harry remembered vaguely reading about vampires in fourth year, before Snape had focused on werewolves...

"Okay kid," Jack said, breaking Harry out of his thoughts "There's a guy around the corner who's got a flat tyre, poor bastard," Jack chuckled, "Sneak up on him, and, you know," he trailed off meaningfully. Harry nodded, turning towards the alley. Wait! He paused. Didn't he read somewhere that vampires infected others with bites? Or was that just werewolves?

"Er, won't he, you know," Harry stuttered weakly. Jack looked at him blankly. "Become a, you know," He leaned closer "vampire?" he whispered confidently. Jack burst out laughing again.

"Shit no, kid that's just movie bullshit. It takes pretty specific actions to turn a guy, and having a drink won't do it. One thing kid, don't kill him." Jack answered.

"Okay," Harry replyed, steeling himself. The idea of sucking on some guys neck was not really appealing. Harry crept carefully around the corner into a small alleyway where a man in a suit was standing by a car, just finishing up on his mobile phone.

"Look, I've got a flat," he said "I'll be home as soon as triple A gets here." He listened for a second, "I know baby, but it wasn't..." He trailed off again, an exasperated look on his face. "Well, I'll get it tomorrow... Okay... Love you."He hung up. Harry crept closer, finding it strangely easy to move silently over the ground. The man turned, and Harry paused for a second, before the man turned back towards his car. Harry crept closer, his footfall still silent. Sudenly an entising smell wafted towards him. Harry paused, and sniffed deeply, his mouth starting to water. What was that smell? It was coming from the man, Harry realised vaguely disgusted. The closer he got, the stronger the smell became. Suddenly, the man looked entirely more appatising. Harry leapt instinctively with a snarl, grabbing hold of the man, who was able to give a startled yelp, before sinking his teeth into his neck. The rich blood that filled his mouth was the most increadable flavour he had ever tasted. He swallowed the blood thirstily, feeling a strange warmth flooding though his body, as well as an wonderful feeling of wellbeing. The man had stopped struggling as soon as Harry's teeth had bit him, and he stood as though stunned. Harry drank, vaguely noting the blood start to become weaker, and a pulsing he had felt in his teeth – the man's heartbeat, Harry recognised – started to slow. Remembering Jack's words, he pulled himself away from his target regretfully watching in astonishment as the neck would closed up instantly. The man himself swayed gently, as though unconsciece on his feet. Harry waved a hand across his eyes, receiving no reaction. Harry felt, for the first time since he had been turned, alive. Hot blood rested comfortably in him, and he felt energised, as though he had drunk a gallon of coke. He could feel the strength in his vampire body, and, testing himself, he leapt straight up. "Wow!" he whispered with a grin as he cleared the swaying man's head.

Harry bound back out of the alley way, to where Jack stood leaning against a wall opposite the theatre. Jack peered at Harry, an intense look on his face.

"Yeah. Hell yeah. You're feeling it." He said, staring at Harry "All that blood pulsing though you, you're a natural born killer." He nodded seriously.

"I feel great!" Harry answered honestly, "Like I can take on the world!"

"Yeah," Jack smiled "Remember the feeling, it's never as sweet as the first time." He trailed off, as though reminicing, before clapping his hands together "Okay, so you're a bad ass vampire, great for you. But there are a few things you got to know."

"Like what?" Harry asked puzzled,

"Well, things about being kindred – that's our word for vampire." He explained at Harry's look. "Firstly, you are now immortal. Congradulations! You have stopped aging!"

Harry sat back at that, stunned, a grin coming over his face. After all he had gone through, all that had happened – he had completely forgoten about his original problem. "So I'm going to live forever?" He asked distantly.

"Well, unless you're killed." Jack answered, "Okay, let me give you the lowdown. First of all, most of the stereotypes are full of shit. Holy water? Doesn't do jack. A cross? Shove it up their ass! A wooden stake? Only if it hits you in the heart, and even then it'll only paralise you."

Harry shivered, and rubbed his chest. Aparently he had already experienced what stakes would do.

"Running water? I bathe..." Jack continued. Harry shot him a disbelieving look "... Ocasionally." Jack said defensively, before continueing on quickly, "Now a shotgun to the face? That's trouble. Fire? That's real trouble. Sunlight? Well, you catch a sunrise, and it'll be the last thing you ever do." He smiled "Generally speaking..." Gunfire cut him off. Jack spun around with a snarl "What the fuck was that?" Harry didn't answer, ducking down. "Look kid," Jack said, turning back to Harry "Get inside, I'll scout around." Jack pushed the door, which was apparently open, and Harry ducked inside. It was some kind of mechanics shop, with various parts of cars lying around, and big oilstains on the ground. A scaffolding ran around the edge of the room, disapearing around the side, to what appeared to be an upstairs office. Harry easily climbed up, again surprised with the grace and agility of his vampire – Kindred – body. Harry started as a figure moved out of a shadow, before realising that it was Jack. "Keep down, away from the window." Jack hissed. Outside, gunfire and howls rent the night.

"What's going on?" Harry asked.

Jack sighed "It's a fucking Sabbat raid. The dumb fucks heard that there was a Camerilla gathering and decided to bust the place up."

"Sabbat?" Harry asked cautiously "Who are they?"

Jack sighed, frusterated "Shit, I'd hoped to tell you that crap later... The Sabbat... shit." Jack said, though finding the words "The Sabbat are a group of kindred who think that humans are better than humans and should be ruling them. They think that the Camarilla are weak for refusing their nature, and hiding from humans."

"What do you mean?" Harry asked "Refusing what nature? And who are the Camarilla?"

"Every kindred has a beast inside him," Jack answered after a short pause. "It's the thing that wants to kill, to make a kindred a mindless animal. We fight against it, to keep our minds." He said "To fight it, we don't kill innocents, and we stay well fed. Like that guy you fed on," Jack explained "If you had killed him, it would have strengthened the beast in you. The Sabbat on the other hand think that the beast is our true nature, which is why they are like that," Jack gestured with disgust as a couple of Sabbat figures ran past the window, howling and firing machine pistols wildly.

"Oh," Harry said intelligently.

"In any case," Jack said, testing a door down the hallway, before simply kicking it in casually. "Just remember those things, and you'll be fine." Harry followed Jack into a small office, as he walked to a back door. "Here, you go through here, I'll check around." Harry nodded, and carefully crept through the door.

The door led to a small stairwell – a fire escape probably, Harry figured, and exiting out of the building, into a small alleyway. Unfortunately for him, he was not careful while doing so and two figures at the other end of the alley spun around and opened fire. Blinding pain struck, and Harry stagered back. The shots stopped quickly however, and Harry looked up just in time to duck a flying body, which smashed against the door where Harry stood, before dusting. Thirty feet away, at the other end of the alley, Jack stood, cracking his knuckles.

"Sabbat bastards! Fucking waste of unlife!" Jack snarled as Harry limped over.

"What the bloody hell was that!" Harry shouted.

"Hey hey!" Jack laughed "You get winged? Wowee, look at the size of those plugholes!"

"They bloody hurt!" Harry sulked, though the pain had quickly died to a slight sting. "I need stitches, or something."

Jack patted Harry companiably on the shoulder "They'll close up pretty quickly if you get some blood in you..." He sniffed interigatively before shrugging apologetically "Looks like your shit out of luck kid, can't smell anyone nearby,"

"Then what, they'll stay open like this?" Harry asked, freaked out. He'd figured that kindred could take a fair sight more punishment that a human, but having half a dozen holes in him could not be good.

"Nah," Jack reassured, "those holes 'll close up soon enough anyway."

"Oh," Harry replied, "What do we do now,"

"Hmm," Jack mused, eying Harry speculatively, "I saw a Sabbat guarding the exit to the street around the corner, if you take him out, we're free and clear, and you can get back to Santa Monica."

"Okay," Harry replied "I'll go and... wait" He stopped "I'll take him out? Why don't you take him out?"

"Don't worry kid," Jack smiled "He's greener than you are, it'll give you a chance to test your stuff out."

"But, but..." Harry stuttered, looking for an excuse, as Jack gently but firmly pushed him out of the alley. "But, but..."

"Go get 'em kid!" Jack smiled before yelling "Hey you Sabbat piece of shit! Over here!" Harry eyed him in disbelief, as he was answered with a growl.

The Sabbat were ugly, Harry thought absently, as the deformed shape of the Sabbat kindred stepped out of the shadows, a tyre iron in hand. Fast though, his next thought was as the Sabbat raced towards him, swinging the iron wildly. Harry barely managed to dodge out of the way, before responding with a wild swing, which connected to the Sabbat's ribs, barely moving the vampire. For all the new inprovements his body had undergone, knowledge of how to fight did not seem to be one of them. 'Damn you Buffy the Vampire Slayer' Harry though, frantically dodging the Sabbat 'I believed you! What happened to every vampire knowing karate?' Further thoughts were imposible as a shot finaly got through Harry's defence, hitting Harry hard across the face. Harry staggered back, his face burning, as the Sabbat pressed his advantage swinging again. This time, Harry was able to defend, taking the blow on his forearm and, from the feeling, breaking it. Harry fell back with a cry, cradeling his broken arm. "It's all over, Camerilla fuck!" He snarled, bringing the iron down again. Harry lifted a hand weakly, wishing more than anything he had his wand, or something to kill the vampire with when a strange sensation ran through his right arm. Sudenly, a glob of something – blood, Harry recognised weakly – shot from the palm of his hand into the Sabbat's chest. Both vampires paused dumbly, until the Sabbat simply burst into dust. From the dust, a larger glob of blood raced back towards Harry, and re-entered his palm. "What the hell was that?" He thought outloud in amazement, as his various wounds healed.

"That," Jack's voice made him jump "Looked like a blood strike."

"A blood strike?" Harry questioned, shaking his healed left arm in wonder. While he had seen wounds healed that quick – generally wounds he had suffered – his new healing ability was strange.  
"Yeah," Jack nodded slowly "A blood strike."

"What's that, like a Kindred ability?" Harry asked, excited. It was, after all, very cool.

"Not exactly," Jack said, thoughfully "Though I supose it's a good thing you shot it. Looks like you're a Tremere."

Harry waited for an explination, but Jack stayed silent "What's a Tremere?" He finally prompted.

"It's like this kid," Jack said, leaning against the wall again, "As the story goes, the original Kindred was a guy named Cain."

"Wait, you mean Cain as in Cain and Abel," Harry asked

"Right in one," Jack nodded "In any case, after he killed Abel, he was cursed to wander the earth. He became the first vampire. Anyway, he bit a few others, who became the second generation vampires, they in turn bit thirteen vampires, who are known as the Antediluvians – vampires who are pretty much all powerful." Jack sighed as he thought deeply "These Antediluvians created the thirteen clans of Kindred, who share different powers and abilities."

"Oh," Harry replied, before brightening "So my clan is Tremere?"

"Looks like it," Jack smiled with a shrug "Thaumaturgy is only used by them."

"Thaumat..., Thaumaticag... What is that?" Harry asked with difficulty.

"Thaumaturgy," Jack enonciated slowly, grinning at the sour look on Harry's face "Is blood magic. Your guys are actually not one of the thirteen clans – as the story goes, the Tremere used to be a clan of wizards looking for a way to gain immortality, what they reckon is that Tremere managed to capture one of the Antediluvians, and somehow made himself kindred."

"Wow," Harry breathed, uncertainly. "What clan are you?" He asked tentatively.

Jack grinned toothily "Brujah." He replied "We're well known as being brutes and thugs." He smiled toothily, shrugging innocently "Don't know what gives them that idea."

"Right," Harry stated ironically. Harry stretched, feeling his spine crack. "So how does the Thaumaturgy" He grinned victoriously, ignoring Jack's faux gasp, before continuing "Do you know any spells?" His grin died as Jack shook his head negatively.

"Sorry kid," Jack said "The Tremere ain't exactly the most sociable types, and if there's one thing that gets up their nose, it's the idea of anyone outside their clan learning anything about their blood magis" He sniffed in disaproval "Personally I don't see what the attraction is, magic?" He shrugged "The day I need magic is the day ripping someones jawbone off and stabbing them in the eye with it stops being fun, know what I mean?" His grin died at Harry's look of horror. "What? Maybe it's just me." He mused, as Harry nodded mutely. "Anyway, if you want to learn more of that magic" He rolled the world out in tolerant distaste "You should look for more Tremere. They're a pretty tight knit bunch."

"Thanks Jack," Harry said, grateful to the big, scary, biker looking bloke who nevertheless seemed the only friend he had. Except maybe for... "Hey Jack," Harry said "Who was that bloke in the theatre, that stood up?"

"That's Nines." Jack grinned, "Real stand up guy. Looks like you owe him your life." Harry nodded in mute agreement. A horn beeped from the road. "Look's like you're ride's here." Jack said with a glance, before pulling something from under his jacket. "Here kid, take this." Harry took the object, and examined it with slight panic.

"Jack," He hissed "This is a gun." Jack laughed.

"Well, at least you know the basics." He grinned in amusement, holding up a hand to cut of Harry's protests "Look kid, from the way you fought, you're gunna need it more than I will."

"Well," Harry said, slightly embarrassed.

"Nevermind, kid." Jack grinned placatingly "Now it's only a thirty-eight, so I wouldn't bother using it on anything stronger than a gangbanger. I'd suggest you get hold of something bigger as soon as you can. Like a shotgun. Man those things sting." Jack winced in memory.

"Er, right." Harry said akwardly, fumbling the gun under his shirt, "Well..." He trailed off helplessly, attempting to find the words for his gratitude..

Jack's eyes widened in panic. "Hey! None of that crap, I'm just helping out a fellow kindred! None of that wishy washy shit."

"No problem Jack." Harry smiled.

Jack smiled in relief. "Well, good. I'll see you around kid. If you ever come back downtown, stop in at the Last Ride. Good luck." Harry lifted a hand in salute, as Jack turned and walked away. Harry walked to the taxi and, with a grimace, attempted to bend to get in without dislodging his gun which was digging uncomfortably close to his groin.

"Where to?" The driver asked. Harry hesitated. "Santa Monica," He answered decisively. The driver wordlessly pulled away from the curb, smoothly accelerating. Harry leaned back, closing his eyes. It had been a big day.


	3. Chapter 3A

AN: Quick authors note - once again a part of the dialogue is ripped straight from the game - specifically some of the dialogue of E, Lilly, Mecurio, and Heather. For those who have played the game, you may recognise it.

Two clans stand  
in open rebellion   
to the Masquerade.  
Supported by renegade _antitribu_  
from the Camarilla clans,  
they are collectively known as the  
**Sabbat**.   
They seek freedom from the rules  
of the Camarilla, and they  
strive to reduce mankind  
to the status of cattle.

The centuries long-war  
between these two sects has  
escalated -- perhaps beyond control.

The anthem of the Sabbat is  
total Kindred freedom.  
It is this philosophy  
that makes them  
deadly guerrilla warriors  
and a shockingly  
disorganized sect.

One Sabbat pack  
is seldom aware of  
the agenda of  
another.

"Greetings neonate" The unexpected voice caused Harry to jump and reach for a wand which wasn't there. 'Damn it!' he thought furiously. How did he expect to survive Voldemort if he couldn't even spot a bloke standing in his own apartment? "Who are you? What do you want?" He asked bravely, noticing in dismay his missing wand being twirled between the fingers of his unknown guest. The man smiled, showing sharp teeth. 'Kindred' Harry realised with a start.

"There is no need for alarm, young one," the vampire said soothingly, "I am merely here to... there is no need for that." Harry froze, revolver half drawn.

"How do I know that?" Harry asked suspiciously.

"Here," The kindred smiled, tossing the wand to Harry, who caught it automatically and pointed it back towards the vampire. "My name is Maximilian Straus. At your service." Maximilian bowed his head gracefully. "As for why I am here, why I am here to help you. After all, we share the same blood."

"You're Tremere?" Harry asked hopefully. Maybe this was his chance to learn about thaumaturgy.

"Indeed," Maximilian confirmed "In fact, I am the regent of this city."

"Regent?" Harry questioned uncertainly.

"The Tremere have their own... hierarchy. We are a close knit clan, often residing in the same haven – which is called a Chantry. A regent is the leader of each local Chantry. I am regent of the Los Angeles Chantry and thus, to use a crude acronym, the local 'prince' of the Tremere in Los Angeles."

"Oh," Harry said intelligently, "Does that mean I'm a part of this chantry?"

Maximilian shook his head slowly. "Unfortunately not," he said "your turning was... unusual. You see, we select our brethren with extreme care and thorough research... You have been turned outside of our usual practices, which creates somewhat of a problem. Or perhaps an opportunity."

"How so," Harry asked, interested despite himself. That wasn't enough however for him to drop his guard.

"Well..." Maximilian began, before glancing at Harry's wand "Firstly could you lower your wand, I assure you that you will not need it. In fact, you will never need it again."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Harry demanded, tightening his grip.

"I make no threat, neonate, I merely meant that your wand will no longer be of use to you. Try it" Maximilian suggested. Harry examined his wand suspiciously, before leveling it at an empty beer bottle on the floor.

"Wingardium Leviosa" He commanded with a swish and a flick. Nothing happened. Harry looked down at his wand in shock, before attempting again "Lumos!" No reaction. Furiously, he pointed the wand at Maximilian, who watched serenely, before dropping the useless wand, and pulling out the .38. "What did you do!" He demanded loudly.

"Nothing. I assure you," Maximilian responded calmly, "unfortunately however it is a basic tenant of our condition that the magic of the living cannot be wielded by the undead." Harry's heart would have skipped a beat had it still worked.

"What?" he asked weakly. Magic was something that made his life tolerable – hell it was the only good thing he'd ever had. Now it was gone.

"I'm sorry Harry, believe me when I say that your shock was much like my own. Loosing magic was like loosing a part of myself.," Maximilian smiled sympathetically "But do not despair. We have learnt to adapt. You will find that the art of Thaumaturgy, while perhaps not having the vast range of powers that traditional magic enjoys, more than equals it in terms of pure power."

"I... you were a wizard?" Harry asked in suprise.

"Yes," Maximilian answered with a nod "most kine chosen by the clan to be turned are wizards. In fact the originator of our line, Tremere, was himself once a wizard."

"Wow," Harry breathed, taking a moment to slowly calm himself. He looked up at Maximilian again, idly holstering his gun. "If you're not here to make me part of the... chantry," Harry used the unfamiliar word with care "Why are you here?"

"Straight Down to business," Maximilian smiled approvingly "I know that the prince has a task for you. To do this, you should speak to Mecurio. He works for the prince, and lives close by. I believe the details are in this letter." He said pointing to an unnoticed page on Harry's bed, which Harry immediately pocketed. "I would suggest you complete this mission, not only because if it is what I expect it to be, it is one of extreme importance, but also in order to clear any perceived debt you may have to LaCroix."

Harry picked up the letter, scanning it quickly, before looking up in shock. "He wants me to blow up a warehouse!"

"Ah..." Maximilian smiled smugly "As I thought... It will not be an easy task, perhaps even..." Maximilian trailed of in thought for a second before his smile reasserted itself. "No matter. In any case it is one you must complete. After you accomplish this task, do not go to the Prince – instead, come and see me. From there, you will be sent to England."

"Why?" Harry asked suspiciously, "Why not see what the Prince says? And why do you want to send me to England? Why should I do anything you say?"

"Good questions all," Maximilian replied "To answer them in the order you asked, firstly is to get you out of the Prince's influence. You have a touch of destiny about you Harry, one which should not be wasted on the Prince's Machiavellian maneuvering. This mission he has sent you on is a proving ground. Should you fail, he will regain face he lost by allowing you to live when he killed your sire. Should you succeed, he will have a powerful newcomer who owes his life to him. Secondly, you should go to England in order to battle Lord Voldemort."

Harry started in surprise at the name, before looking at Maximilian "You know who I am?"

"Indeed," Maximilian smiled "While I have no idea why you are here, or why you are far older than you should be, there is no denying it. How many powerful English wizards with green eyes and a lightning bolt scar are there?"

"Well you haven't answered my last question." Harry said, struggling to regain his composure. "Why should I do anything you say."

Maximilian smiled, and raised his hands in a placating gesture "Because I'm offering help." He said simply "Our goals, at this juncture are the same. Stopping the Dark Lord. Granted our motivations may be different..."

"How?" Harry asked immediately.

"You wish to stop him presumably to save your friends, or to avenge your parents" Maximilian sighed tolerantly, "I on the other hand am worried of new rumours arising. Rumours that Voldemort is in negotiations with the Sabbat for their services." Harry gasped in shock. Maximilian nodded grimly. "The Sabbat attack us everywhere, however there are some areas which they have not intruded. England is one such place. We cannot allow the Sabbat a foothold in England. You must destroy Voldemort before he allows the Sabbat to enter the country." Maximilian sighed again, "The way ahead of you is dark, but you must suceed. Here." He said, pulling a book out from under his coat and handing it to Harry. Harry squinted at the title 'Puissance de précurseur du sang'

"erm..." Harry tried "What language is this in? Is that French?"

"Not to worry, neonate," Maximilian soothed "The original book was written in French – this however is a translated version. It is a basic book on thaumaturgy, and explores some of the earlier theory behind the art. While most of the theory in the book has long since been replaced, it is still useful. Most useful to you however will be the five spells it contains. The first, blood strike is one you should be able to cast now. The others are more complex and powerful, and will require some experience and practice before you can successfully cast them." Maximilian turned and walked to the door, before pausing in the frame to turn back. "One thing, young one. Do not show this book to anyone. The secrets of Thaumaturgy are not for the eyes of those outside of the Tremere clan. Far better the book is destroyed rather than captured."

"I will." Harry nodded absently, paging quickly through the book.

"Good luck, neonate." Maximilian said softly, and when Harry looked up, he was gone. Harry sighed, and picked up his wand, examining it in the light. It amazed him that something that was so important – something that was so powerful – was now nothing more than a polished stick.

Harry dropped the wand carelessly on the small coffee table, before pulling the letter out of his pocket, and smoothing it out. Only one thought came to mind while reading it. This was bullshit. Harry read the orders with growing dread. Apparently he had to get a large – and unstable – explosive device from the Princes agent, a guy named Mecurio, take said device through what was probably a heavily defended enemy warehouse, plant said device – which had a three minute timer, and escape the blast zone. All without getting dead. Harry sighed heavily. He almost wished he was back under Dumbledoor's thumb. Not quite though. Harry looked out the window with a sigh. Wouldn't be long till morning – might as well get some sleep, and start again tomorrow. With that, he carefully closed the blinds and secured them as best he could, before lying on the cheap mattress.

The building was huge. Apparently it was only made up of apartments, but they were very high quality apartments, much better than the cheap studio he had. In fact, if it wasn't for the large blood trail entering the building, Harry would have been impressed. He carefully entered the building, avoiding the blood – which appeared to still be wet, and followed it, to apartment 3 – the apartment Mecurio lived in. No real surprise there, Harry though grimly, carefully pushing the door open with one hand, the other on the butt of his revolver. The apartment was nice, a large flat screen TV against the wall next to the door, a walnut trunk next to a glass table in the center of the room, and behind them, an expensive leather couch – which currently was being bled on by a prostrate form.

"Hey, are you okay?" Harry asked tentatively,

"Those mothers... ripped me off!" The form gasped in between pained breaths.

"Are you Mecurio?" Harry asked.

"Yeah, oh you're the new kid right?" Mecurio answered, attempting to lever himself up, before collapsing back down again with a grimace.

"I'm Harry, its, er, nice to meet you." Harry said awkwardly

"Look, kid, I'm bleeding out my ass here, I ain't got time for this social shit." Mecurio groaned, before calming once again, "Look, those bastards, they took the explosives. You got to get them back."

"Okay," Harry agreed quickly, "Who took them?"

"Those small time sons of bitches, they got some dump on the beach, down by the pier."

"Okay," Harry said, "Er, how do I get there?"

Mecurio looked up "I'm lying in a pool of my own blood and you're asking for directions?" He asked incredulously before quickly relenting, "Look, just go down to the beach, there should be a... a stairway on the right against the cliff. Look, you need to get those explosives back. Just go there and... and do what you guys do."

"I'll go there straight away." Harry agreed. "Look, you look like you're in pain, do you need anything?"

"Ah, yeah," Mecurio breathed, "If you can get hold of something for the pain I'd be grateful,"

"I'll keep an eye out." Harry promised before heading towards the door.

"Hey kid!"

Harry turned around inquisitively at Mecurio who had managed to lever himself up slightly, and stared at him with a worried look. "Look, could you keep this to yourself? I mean, if word got out that I lost the explosives..." He trailed off.

"Don't worry," Harry agreed quickly, "I won't tell anyone" Mecurio slumpt back onto the couch with a sigh, some of the worry leaving his face.

Harry made his way through the night, and made it unmolested to the beach. It was then that he spotted four figures on the beach arrayed around a small fire. As Harry approached though, they immediately got to their feet, in a wary but defiant manner. The group was made up of three men, and a woman, one of the men slightly ahead of the rest.

"Are you gunna chase us off? Look we're not hurting no-one." The first man said.

"What?" Harry asked confused. The four had stopped their actions and watched him with fearful eyes.

"It's like I told the others, we'll go as soon as..."

"Look," Harry interrupted, "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Y, y, y, you mean you're n,n,not going to run us off?" A second bloke timidly stuttered.

"No," Harry replied exasperated, "I'm not. Why would I?"

"Dunno," The first answered with a shrug, "But you types are always trying to get rid of us."

"Is there something wrong with you?" Harry asked tentatively.

"I'm not rightly sure." The man replied. "I'm E by the way."

"Harry," Harry answered 'E'.

"This here's Copper," E said, pointing at the blond headed guy, who gave a short wave, "This is Rosa," pointing at the dark haired beauty, who smiled "She can see the future!" E said loudly, "so she claims," he whispered conspiratorially to Harry, who hid a smile at Rosa's dark look at E – apparently who had not whispered quietly enough. "Anyway," E continued hurriedly "this is Julius." E pointed at the stutterer, "He's a little nervous."

"Anyway, we seem to have come down with the same disease..." E said before trailing off with a resigned sigh, "Who am I kidding. We're a bad horror show alright? We seem to be the runts. The mistakes. You types call us Thin Bloods. Ha. I say we're equally screwed."

"Thin bloods?" Harry asked, his voice tight – the word close to another he despised. "What does that mean."

"Damned if I know," E snorted bitterly "I know you don't want to be one. You seem to be in the club, you tell me?"

"I'm kind of new to this." Harry answered apologetically, "why don't you tell me how it happened?"

"It started with a girl, she had a natural beauty" E answered, a dreamy smile appearing, "Her name was Lilly. I remember introducing myself; how she seemed grateful for the company."

"Lilly?" Harry asked, his voice carefully blank.

"Aye," E said, the smile slipping, as his eyes unfocused. "She tried to tell me what she was, but I didn't understand. So... so she showed me." E paused, his throat tight. "I was furious with her! I cursed her and left, never really knowing what I was... I know now how she must have felt. So now here I am. A mystery to myself." E trailed off.

"Maybe I can help you," Harry offered sympathetically,

"I hope you have better luck than I have," E said gloomily, "I know she used to hang around the old diner opposite that Asylum club. Everytime I try to go and look, some of your kind run me off..." With that depressing story in his mind, Harry gave a tentative goodbye to the group, and headed up the railing towards the beach house.

"What the hell do you want?" the thug was leaning on the small fence surrounding the beach house. Large plate windows showed at least two other thugs walking around inside. Harry walked up to the waiting thug with a tight smile, and a feigned confidence.

"I heard you are the blokes to see about purchasing rare stuff."

"'You blokes'? Who the fuck talks like that? Look, prick, get the hell out of here." the thug snarled, picking up a baseball bat.

"I need to get in." Harry said firmly, tensing.

"Fuck you!" The thug shouted bringing the bat around in a vicious swing. Harry was ready for him however and ducked under, coming up with a wild uppercut. Unlike with the Sabbat vampire, this blow landed well, and lifted the human into the air with a surprised grunt, tossing him back through the plate glass.

The smash of glass heralded a moment of shocked silence, until the night was broken with gunfire. Dodging madly, Harry dived behind a nearby car frame, which although would probably never see the road again, served well enough as cover from the .38 slugs. Harry awkwardly dug out his own revolver, and sighted over the car. The figures ducked in and out of view in the well lit window giving Harry the momentary impression of the cheap arcade games he saw Dudley play years ago. A head popped into view, and Harry fired instinctively. The figure sprouted a red dot on his forehead and a surprised look, before toppling over out of view.

The firing from inside stopped for a brief second with a yell of "Jesus Christ!" before it doubled in it's intensity. The wreck began ringing out with metal hits, hurting Harry's ears, until he finally had enough and made a mad dash for the door. Harry made it relatively unscaved – hot pain in his left shoulder and leg suggesting he had taken a couple of hits at least – and steadied himself against the outside door jam. Harry took a deep unnecessary breath before stepping into the open doorway and opening fire. When the hammer clicked on an empty chamber, Harry lowered the gun to see three thugs on the ground, two motionless, one jerking for a moment before lying still. He himself wasn't in great shape having taken quite a few hits in the exchange, but at least all the thugs were dead.

Harry examined the room; there was not much left. The door behind him led outside, a door to the left led to what appeared to be a bedroom, and a door ahead. The TV against the wall had taken a few bullets and sat dead. Harry stepped over the bodies, careful not to look at them, through the door. A whistling sound was the only warning as something metallic connected with his head. Harry fell back as the blows kept coming. The pain increased, as did his desperation. "I will not go out like this!" He raged to himself – though his body disagreed, and continued to ignore his commands. His rage and frustration mounted until something snapped, and a red film enveloped his gaze.

Harry looked around in confusion. What happened? The pain had stopped – in fact, he felt really good, as though he had just fed. At his feet, a final thug – who must have been the one hiding behind the door – lay with his throat torn out. Strangely (Or not so strangely Harry thought, slightly disquieted.) there was no blood visible from the wound, or on the ground. Harry licked his lips and was not surprised when it was tasty. Harry processed that for a second before shrugging resigned "Shouldn't of fucked with me," He muttered uncomfortably, walking over to the explosive which was conveniently on the table nearby. Harry turned to leave, before shrugging, and quickly searching the desk. To the victor goes the spoils, he justified to himself – after all, these guys were stoners and dealers; surely they'd have something lying around he could give Mecurio? This belief was quickly substantiated, as a drawer opened reveiled a pile of pill bottles. Looking at the labels for a second in bewilderment, he simply shrugged and pocketed the lot. 'Mecurio will know which to take,' he reasoned, leaving the beach house quickly, as his ears picked up the faint sound of sirens. Harry quickly jogged arross the beach, nodding to E's gloomy group, and jogged back up to the street, not noticing the eyes watching him from the cliff top. They watched until Harry ran out of sight, before bounding away.

"Hey, you still alive?" Harry asked lightly. Mecurio groaned and opened his eyes wearily.

"Ha, goddam ha kid." He muttered, before brightening up "Did you get the stuff?"

"Yep!" Harry answered with a smile, showing Mecurio the explosives. "I even got pills!"

"Great!" Mecurio smiled "Pass them here!" Harry awkwardly dug the bottles out of his pocket, and carefully placed them on the couch with Mecurio, several dropping onto the ground. Mecurio stared at the bottles in disbelief, gently shaking one and hearing the rattle. "What the hell is this? What did you do? Rob a chemist?" he asked, searching through the bottles.

"No," Harry said defensively, "I found them at the beachhouse. But i didn't know what was what so..."

"So you brought it all." Mecurio nodded, "Lets see if there's any... aha!" Mecurio smiled victoriously, opening a bottle, and swallowing a handful of pills. "Oh, christ... I needed that." Mecurio sighed, a blissful look coming over his face. After a moment, he looked up at Harry, clarity in his eyes. "So did you waste those fuckers?"

"Well... yeah," Harry admitted uncomfortably. They had tried to kill him, and as Jack said, that was perfectly alright to defend himself, but it still felt strange.

"Good. Great. Hope it was painful." Mecurio smiled viciously.

"So, where's this place I'm supposed to blow?" Harry asked.

"Well, about that," Mecurio said "I'm not exactly sure. Only guy that can help you is a guy called Bertum Tung."

"Bertum?" Harry asked, "Where can I find him?"

"That's where it gets interesting." Mecurio said hesitantly "Betrum's one of your type. A Nosferatu. Word is he's one of the biggest players in Santa Monica. Problem is he's beefing with Therese Vorman. She's the real power in these parts."

"So..." Harry trailed off. Mecurio simply stared uncomprehendingly. "What am I supposed to do?" Harry asked exasperated.

"Look, Betrum's lying low. Chances are, you won't find him until Therese calls the feud." Mecurio said, much calmer as the drugs did their work. "Therese and her sister run a club down the street, called the Asylum. Strange place."

"Okay," Harry said, "So I just go there and get her to call of the feud. How exactly?" He asked.

"How the hell should I know? You're the vamp, I'm just the ghoul." Mecurio retorted.

"Ghoul?" Harry asked intrigued, "What's that?"

"Whats... oh that's right, you're straight of the bus ain't you?" Mecurio sighed, before adopting a lecturing tone, "A ghoul is the servant of a kindred like yourself. The kindred feeds us their blood, presto chango, we gain a whole lot of powers like strength, long life – hell, I'm eighty seven – and a body that can take a beating. 'ts the only reason I'm still alive after that beating those stoner pricks gave me." Mecurio added with a frown.

"Sounds like a good deal," Harry stated with a frown, "What's the catch."

"The catch is that we are totally loyal to our master. Hell, I still got problems sayin' his name." Mecurio said with a smirk, "All in all though, it ain't a bad deal." he shrugged. "Anyway kid, you'd better get moving, that warehouse ain't blowing it self up."

"Are you going to be alright?" Harry asked with concern. Mecurio nodded affirmatively.

"Don't worry about me, Harry, I got another shipment of blood coming in tomorrow, soon as I get that in me, I'll heal up as quick as you guys do."

"Alright," Harry replied, "I'll see you later."

"Don't be a stranger," Mecurio nodded, before lying back on the couch and closing his eyes.

Harry walked through the cold night, though not feeling the cold. It was strange, although he knew intellectually that it was dark, he could see perfectly clearly. He walked quickly through several alleys, towards a deep thumping. As he got closer, the sound resolved itself into a driving base from a fast paced Gothic club song. Harry walked around to corner to see a dark red sign 'The Asylum' casting a red glare over everything. He looked around with a frustrated sigh. There was a long line of people lined outside the club patiently, all dressed in various themes of leather, latex, and other Gothic styled clothes.

'Bugger it,' he thought to himself, 'might as well check out about Lilly. Maybe the line will die down later.' With that determination made, he turned and entered the diner which was, as E had said, across the street.

"What'll it be?" The old lady asked, barely looking up from her register.

"I'm looking for someone." Harry answered "Her name's Lilly."

"Lilly?" The woman mused, "Doesn't ring a bell."

"She's a thin blonde. Used to hang around surfer blokes."

"Hmm, a thin blonde and a surfer, oh yeah, we only see about fifty of them a week" the woman answered sarcastically.

"Maybe she said something about thin bloods" Harry pressed.

The woman looked up, a glint of recognition in her eyes "Thin blood, yeah, where did I hear that... Oh that's right, I know who you're talking about, thin girl, always looking sad. Never ate or drank anything, but just sat here all night. Poor girl. Last time I saw her she left some of her stuff. Maybe you can return it?"

"Sure," Harry answered with a smile, "I'd be happy to." The woman rummaged under the counter for a second, before finally handing over a book. Harry walked out of the diner, ducking around to a nearby street lamp and opening the book – a diary, he noticed absently.

Harry read through quickly, his sympathy for the woman growing. Apparently, she had been turned and when her sire released that she was a thin blood, had abandoned her in the streets of LA. Since then she had lived alone, feeding of stray animals and rats, alone. Until she met E, the only one who had been kind to her. She had, over the course of several nights fallen in love, and eventually gathered the courage to tell E about the 'curse' she had, and when he hadn't understood, had turned him. He had, as he said, spurned her, and she left, broken hearted. The next few entries in the diary spoke of her growing hunger – how she didn't trust herself to feed anymore. The diary recorded her growing desperation to resist her impulses which grew darker as her hunger increased. In the last entry, it noted that there was a blood bank nearby – and that she would try to buy or steal some. Harry closed the diary with a heavy heart. He was more resolved than ever to find the poor girl, and reunite her with E. The obvious next place to look was the blood bank. Harry set off with a determined stride.

Harry circled the building carefully, before sidling over to a side door, which was fortunately unlocked. He snuck carefully through a clinic area, avoiding the nurse, before ducking into a room as a doctor walked by absently paging through a chart. Harry stood at the door, carefully watching the doctor leave, before a rattling breath behind him caught his attention. The girl was in a pitiful condition. She didn't have the strength to raise her head, and could barely look at him. Her red hair spayed out around her, looking disturbingly like blood, while her green eyes dully attempted to focus on him. Blood dripped slowly from her bed to the ground.

"Please..." she gasped struggling for breathe. "I need a doctor," she pleaded weakly. Harry carefully brushed the hair out of her face.

"You'll be alright," He soothed unconvincingly, grabbing her chart. Harry's heart sank as he flipped through – words such as 'terminal' jumping out. He sighed. The girl – Heather – her chart said, was only 20. Shot, it appeared, in a bungled robbery. "It will be okay, Heather." He tried to smile. Harry gently stroked her hair feeling powerless as a coughing fit enveloped her. 'Wait!' he thought suddenly, 'what was it Mecurio had said?' Indeed, Harry furiously thought about the brief conversation he had on ghouls. He had the power to save her. However, indecision racked him. Is it right to doom this girl? What price will it be to save her from a quick death and give her a lifetime of servitude worse than the lowliest of house-elves? No, Harry thought firmly. Better she die a natural death than be cursed to be a servant.

Just as Harry stood to leave, Heather reached up, and weakly grasped his hand, "h, Help me?" She begged. The anguished desperation in her voice forced him back to his chair. 'Maybe it's not so bad,' he thought, 'after all Dobby seems happy enough, maybe she will regain her free will with time, Mecurio seems to have it together...' a wretched sob as Heather coughed up some blood made the decision for him, and he carefully slit his wrist with a sharpened fingernail, and gently lay it across the stricken redhead's mouth. At first, nothing happened, but after a second, Harry saw her throat swallow. As the first mouthful of blood went down, Heather's eyes widened, and she grasped his wrist with an unnatural strength, drawing the blood down in desperate gulps. After a few moments, when Harry felt his own supplied dropping low, he wrenched his arm away from the girl – with a surprising amount of difficulty. Heather lay for a second, peaceful at last, a tentative smile on her lips as she looked up at him. "You," She breathed in awe. "I feel like I know you... Like you've always been there." she smiled before a confused look crossed her face "who... who are you? what did you do? What did you do to me?"

"I just wanted to help," Harry said gently, drawing back from the bed.

"You did something," She breathed in wonder "I kissed your wrist... " She paused, eyes unfocused for a second "I can feel it inside me... fixing me..."

"I must go," Harry said, quickly exiting the room before Heather could reply. His good deed done for the day, Harry quickly made his way past the clinic rooms into the office area without attracting attention.

The security at the blood bank was laughable. Well, okay, for most people, breaking into an upstairs office, avoiding two patrolling security guards, clambering through three flights of air conditioning duct, then smashing through a thin wall might be somewhat difficult. But for a vampire, they might as well have opened the front door. Harry crept through the hallway, and opened the last doorway. Lilly had to be here. He had checked every other room in the blood bank area, and this was the final room he had not checked. Harry crept through the small room, halfway through a rattling caught his attention. He turned horrified, to see a wasted form slumped in a chair, heavy shackled appearing huge on her thin wrists. As Harry walked towards her, her eyes slowly focused on him. "Hunger, I feel it. Blood, I need it!"

"Are you Lilly?" He asked tentatively.

"Release me! Please! I'll do anything!"

"Calm down," Harry soothed, working at the locks "I'll get you out of here." The shackles clicked off, and Lilly slumped down, before catching herself, Harry rushing to steady her. She looked up at Harry with a wild look in her eye, causing Harry to swallow, and forcibly remind himself that he was the alpha predator here, before her attention sharpened on someone behind him. He spun to look, but Lilly beat him to it, tackling the figure to the ground with a feline like snarl. The figure struggled in fear as Lilly bit into him, before gradually going still. For a long moment, nothing moved, Lilly still lying on the prostrate kine, before she turned her face to Harry, a thin line on blood running down her chin. The wild look was still in her eyes, though receding as the blood worked it's way through her.

"I, I don't understand, what came over me? I killed that man. I didn't mean to you have to believe me!"

"Don't worry," Harry said soothingly, approaching her as one would a wounded animal "It's not your fault. The beast took over."

"Beast?" Lilly asked, her voice edging towards hysterical "What beast?"

"The beast resides in all of us," Harry said, carefully kneeling down in front of Lilly "The beast is the thing inside us which is our darkest instincts. It calls us to feed and kill. Those who give in to it become nothing more than wild beasts. We keep it in check by resisting the urge to kill the innocent, and by keeping well fed. When we do not do these things, when out blood is low, when our lives are in desperate danger, it takes over and..." Harry shrugged, carefully helping Lilly to her feet.

"Oh," Lilly answered weakly, accepting Harry's help "I didn't know that. My sire didn't tell me."

Harry griminced at that "What can you tell me of thin bloods?" He asked changing the subject.

"My sire, Rolf told me that sometimes when a childe is sired, something goes wrong, and the childe for some reason is weaker. They can not wield the powers of their clan, and do not show the strengths and weaknesses the clan has." Lilly said, giving the explanation calming her, "Some thinbloods are even able to eat food – and Rolf said that some can even walk in daylight. Rolf told me that thin bloods are seen as bad luck – a sign on Gehenna."

"What's Gehenna?" Harry asked.

"Gehenna is a vampire prophecy which predicts the end of the world. From what I was told, the ancient vampires who sired the clans are still around somewhere, but asleep. When Gehenna comes, they will wake up, and consume everything, Kine, and Kindred alike." Lilly shrugged helplessly before returning to her story "Rolf... Rolf abandoned me when he realised that i was a thin blood. He said that I would bring shame and bad luck to him and his clan."

"I see," Harry answered guardedly.

Lilly sighed, looking around with a hapless expression on her face "Thank you for saving me," She said, a bittersweet smile on her face, "I guess I should leave town..."

"Wait," Harry interrupted quickly "You should see E."

"You know E?" She asked, her face brightening for a second before despair replaced it "E hates me... doesn't he?"

"E loves you," Harry said "He asked me to find you."

Lilly's face lit up with a bright smile "Really? E Doesn't hate me anymore? Thank you so much!" she half laughed half cried, before giving Harry an impulsive hug. "I won't forget this!"

Harry's smile took a long time to leave, and a feeling of warmth nothing to do with blood sat in his chest throughout the rest of the night.


	4. Chapter 3B

Hi all, I'm back! Wow, this chap has blown out far longer than I'd anticipated. Over eight- thousand-fucking-words. Damn I'm tired. In any case, here it is. The quote from the start of this chapter is actually from wikipedia. Yeah, I know what you're thinking. They really do have everything.

---------------------------

...Since they moved from an isolated band of Mages into an acknowledged, mysterious and powerful Clan of Kindred in the space of less than a Thousand years,

and since they had created unknowable and powerful new Disciplines (as well as for other, darker reasons), the Tremere are generally mistrusted, and are frequently referred to with the sobriquet, "Usurpers."

- On Clan Tremere

-----------------------

Harry looked up with a sigh. Despite the fact that it was now Sunday night, the line in front of the Asylum was no shorter than the night before. In fact, it seemed to have grown. Harry shrugged, mentally resigned to waiting, but as he turned to walk to the end, the bouncer called him over and waved him through. Harry walked in, perplexed 'well, no need to look a gift horse in the mouth,' he thought ignoring the angry stares of the others, as he passed into the club.

"Ohh, what do we have here? Another scrumptious young plaything straight out of life and into my club?" Harry started and spun to see a figure straight from his dreams; and with no active will of his own felt his jaw drop. If sex could be personified, it would be the vision in front of him. She was dressed in a small blouse which emphasized the size of her bust and a small 'catholic schoolgirl' skirt with fishnet stockings. Her black Goth makeup only enhanced the ensemble. She watched him with a playful smirk on her lips, but a dangerous glint in her eye made him think that there was much more to this girl than meets the eye. "You smell new little boy, like fabric softener on freshly mown Astroturf. Oh, I'm not frightening you am I duckling?" Her voice purred, as she swayed uncomfortably close to him. Harry jumped slightly, forcibly lifting his gaze to her eyes, and failed to speak. She smiled, allowing Harry to see her fangs, before spinning in a graceful pirouette, "Like what you see, sweetie?" She asked teasingly, as Harry flushed.

"Wh, who are you?" Harry stuttered on a dry throat.

The woman laughed, her amusement clear before leaning forward, capturing Harry's attention as though he was facing a legion of veela "I'm the finger down your spine when all the lights are out." She purred, her low voice sending a shiver down his spine, "I'm the name on all the men's room walls." If Harry could think clearly he would have been happily surprised that some body functions obviously still worked. At the moment all the stolen blood in his body had rushed to one particular section. The woman smiled as though sensing his lust "When I pout, the whole world wants to make me smile." She said pouting; indeed Harry would have offered his life at that moment. "...And everyone wants to know; who, is, that, girl."

Jeanette leaned back an amused look on her face, as Harry attempted to break the fog the surrounded him "And, er, 'who is that girl?" Harry asked finally.

"I, am, Jeanette!" She said with a graceful movement, that somehow broke the spell "And this bit of chaos crammed into a certifiable giggle is my club" She smiled gesturing around. "I'd love to stay and chat, duckling but I'm afraid I have business to attend to. I'm sure our paths will cross again." She smiled and walked away. Harry stood frozen, unable to do much but watch the sway of her hips until she moved out of sight. Harry snapped out of it with the shake of his head. That woman was dangerous. He didn't know if she had some Veela power, some kindred power, or possibly simply was that hot, but he could easily see how men could get themselves into great amounts of trouble over women.

Getting to the office of Therese had been easy – he had walked up to the bartender and said 'er, I need to talk with her.' and for some reason the bartender decided to cut him a break. He had ridden the private elevator up and stood awkwardly in the small room outside of her office, attempting not to listen to the loud argument the sisters were having. Finally, Jeanette stormed off, sobbing that the other voice – Therese, Harry guessed – treated her like a child. A door slammed. 'That's right, run away. I'll take care of things, as usual.' the unknown voice said contemptuously. Harry tentatively knocked on the office door, entering on the voice's 'Enter.'

The office was a strange room. To one side, was what Harry assumed was standard office fare, with a wooden desk, with a computer, and a bunch of folders and files on it. A high backed leather chair sat behind the desk, while three uncomfortable looking plastic chairs sat on the other side. The other half of the room contained a large heart shaped bed, and a dressing table covered in various items foreign to Harry – all of which seemed to give off overpowering scents. The room was split with a small divider down the middle – so the sleeping person had some privacy, Harry assumed. Even the decore was different, Harry realised – the office side having – to what Harry's limited artistic sense told him - elegant and artistic works statuettes and painting, while the bedroom having a far more erotic undertone. Harry assumed that the sisters must have each decorated a side – no points for guessing which Jeanette decorated, he thought with a mental grin – either that, or they were attempting to really separate work and pleasure even though confined to a single room. After his brief inspection, he turned his attention to the woman standing in the centre.

Therese Voorman was a beautiful woman, Harry saw at once, and one with great physical similarities to her sister. Where Jeanette was gothic and playfully seductive and her beauty a thing which had an almost physical impact, Therese was all business, with her hair tied back tightly, an expensive suit, and eyes hidden behind thick rimmed glasses. Her looks in fact were as restrained as Jeanettes were flaunted. She smiled as Harry approached, offering a hand which Harry automatically shook.

"Greetings, I am Therese Voorman, how can I help you?" She smiled.

"Hello," Harry smiled, "I actually have some business to discuss with you."

"Oh?" Therese questioned, "What would that be?"

"It's about Bertram Tung," Harry said. A scowl replaced Therese's smile at that, and Harry hurriedly continued "Why do you want to kill him?"

"I have no wish to kill him," Therese sighed with a snarl "Although I find him repulsive, and his influence on my sister is deplorable."

"Well, can you call off the feud then?" Harry asked hopefully.

"Why would I do that?" Therese asked rhetorically, "As long as he believes that I want him dead, the longer he keeps his plotting and influence out of my city." She stated, "That bloody Nosferatu."

"Well look," Harry said reasonably "I need to speak with him. Maybe if there's something I could do..." He trailed off.

"Hmm," Therese thought out loud. "There is indeed a task you could do for me." She nodded decisively, "There is a property I wish to develop the Ocean House Hotel. It was abandoned some time ago, and I have recently acquired the land. With some renovation, it can be reopened. Unfortunately however, the building is haunted by a meddlesome spirit, which has scared away all the workmen. They have refused to work on the site until the problem is resolved."

"Really?" Harry asked in surprise, "I didn't think ghosts were that much of a problem."

"They're not," Therese sniffed, "But the weak minded kine are superstitious. I need you to go to the hotel, and find a personal item of the ghost. As I understand, it can be used to exorcise it."

"Okay," Harry agreed immediately, the task sounding simple enough, "As long as you call of the feud with Tong."

"Oh, I fully intend to keep my side of the bargain," Therese smiled, "You will find that I always keep my word. Good luck."

With that dismissal, Harry turned to leave the office. "Oh," Therese called out as he reached the door, "There is one last thing..."

"Sewers," Harry muttered, trudging through the brown sludge, "For what possible reason would the only entrance to this place be through the sewers?" He asked darkly, ignoring the squishy feeling in his sneakers. 'Guess I'm gunna need new shoes,' he thought to himself, resigned. 'And pants. And feet.' Finally, he came to the gate Therese told him led inside the defunct construction site, and opened the rusty iron gate with the key she had provided. The gate swung open with a touch of kindred strength, the high pitched scrape of the door echoing through the sewer, the sound driving though Harry's brain. "Ahh!" he gasped, clutching his ears in agony, "This had all better be worth it!" He muttered, wearily climbing up the ladder.

The hotel was impressive, Harry admitted to himself. Even though it was clearly run down – several windows shattered, loose shutters banging in the wind, he could see the beauty the building once held. The building was lit up, though the lights did waver. At one point Harry was positive he saw a face look out at him, which sent a pang of terror through him for a second before he resolved himself. 'Don't be silly!' he scolded himself mentally, 'You've seen plenty of ghosts before. Hell, you're good friends with one!' walking towards the door, he jumped as the light bulb over the awning burst with a loud pop. Swallowing his nerves, he gently grasped the door handle. Locked. 'How am I supposed to get in?' he wondered to himself, before shaking his head at his own foolishness. 'Oh, that's right...' With that Harry drew back, and kicked the door in with a boom.

The inside of the building was as opulent as the outside – a double staircase running up to a balcony level, long corridors left and right to different rooms. Harry looked around with a shrug, and started to make his way to the stairway. A strange rattling caught his attention however, and he strained his ears, attempting to find it. 'What the bloody hell is that?' he wondered, on edge. 'It sounds like it's coming from...' Harry looked up, and immediately dove to the side, narrowly missing being crushed by the heavy chandelier. "Bloody hell!" Harry breathed, getting back to his feet. The chandelier frame was made of a heavy metal, and had several sharp points – including the central point which was a foot long and as sharp as a spear. It was currently embedded in the polished floor. Shrugging, Harry decided to be more careful, and made his way slowly up the stairs. Maybe there would be a clue there somewhere. All of a sudden, Harry's world turned upside down with a splintering crash. After several terrifying seconds of being tumbled through space, Harry's free fall came to a painful end on an unforgiving floor.

Harry sat up with a wince, and looked back up. Apparent the stairs had collapsed underneath him. Harry realised that from the hight he could see the stairs, a human would most likely not have survived such a fall. He also had a sneaking suspicion that it was not an accident. Harry stood up with a groan and looked around. This appeared to be a service area – concrete floors, bare walls, thin corridors, and naked light bulbs – which did not work It was dark down there – even for Harry, and the fear rose in his throat. Quickly, he located an 'exit' sign, and followed it to an elevator. Pressing the up button however gave no results – 'the power must be off' he realised. Swallowing nervously, he turned back towards the dark corridors, and made his slow way across.

At a cross roads ahead, a form flitted past. "Hey!" Harry yelled, running forward. Harry raced around the corner to see the figure – a girl – run into a room ahead, whimpering in terror. Harry quickly glanced behind him, but could see no followers. He followed the girl quickly, rounding into the room – and stopped dead. The room was empty. A small desk sat in the middle of the room, a newspaper on it. Harry walked to it cautiously, and picked it up "Severed head found in dryer in Ocean House!" The headline screamed. Harry shuddered in disgust, and dropped the paper back on the desk. 'She must have been a ghost,' Harry realised, 'perhaps even the person found...' Harry's head popped up as heavy footsteps from the corridor outside began.

They were drawing closer and presumably following the girl or – Harry realised with a start – him. He had a feeling deep in his stomach that he did not want to be here when the owner arrived. Harry cast about desperately for a way out of the small office, as the footsteps grew closer. Finally, as they drew to the door, half mad with terror, Harry charged blindly at a section of brick wall which seemed slightly loose – his body bursting through with the force of a wrecking ball. Harry scrambled out of the small room he found himself, desperately sprinting away down another corridor, hearing the footsteps recede in the distance. Harry stopped finally, with a sigh, slowly calming. While the run had not winded him – wind not being something needed by his body anymore – it took a while for his mind to calm from the unnatural terror which had gripped it.

'Get a grip,' he thought to himself firmly, 'I'm no bloody human, I'm the apex predator. I ain't afraid of no ghost.' He nodded firmly to himself, before a heavy squeal of rusted metal caught his attention. He looked up, paling as he realised that he was in a laundromat. In front of him, the heavy door of a dryer slowly swung open. Harry moved towards it, as though compelled, and slowly looked inside in sick anticipation. He sighed with relief, as rather than a head, the dryer held nothing more sinister than a set of keys. Harry picked them up, squinting at the tag in the low light. "Boiler room," He read with a frown, "Wait, wasn't there a door near the elevator that said boiler room?" He quickly made his way back to the elevator, determinedly ignoring the fearful cries of the ghost girl, and spotted the door.

"Aha!" He cried victoriously opening the door and entering the room. The boiler room was large, containing several large tanks – boilers Harry guessed, as well as a small caged off area labeled 'power'. Harry opened the cage, noticing the only thing inside being a small box mounted on the wall labeled switch box. Harry quickly opened the box, scanning the myriad of switches. All of the switches pointed to 'on' except for one switch labeled 'basement'. Harry flicked it with a shrug, and smiled as overhead lights immediately came on. He exited the room, noticing that the whole area was now bathed in light. Pressing the elevator button this time garnered an immediate response, and the doors swung open. Harry entered the elevator, and started as it immediately took off, before opening with a ding. Harry cautiously stepped out, realising immediately that he was back where he started – now standing on the balcony above the staircase which had collapsed. Shaking his head in frustration, Harry quickly examined the area.

The area he was standing in was a small landing, holding a couple of couches, coffee tables, and a grandfather clock. To his left and right were narrow walkways, both with visible doors into the building, and the railing to the other. Harry's attention was immediately caught by a glowing blue figure. Harry cautiously approached it, his hand on his gun, making out a woman. She was looking down, but as Harry approached, looked up with a sad look on her face, before turning to glance at a door,before she faded away. Harry walked past, entering the room she had looked at carefully. It was a bedroom, with a double bed, two side tables, and little else. Harry approached the bed, when all of a sudden, the doors slammed shut with a bang, and the lights all went out. Harry dived to the side in the darkness, slamming his back against the wall, and pulled out his revolver. Before he had time for any other reaction, the lights slowly came back on. To Harry's shock, a message over the bed had been written. 'Get out'.

"Sorry mate," Harry muttered with false bravado, as the smell of blood came to him, "Can't do that," As if in response, a drawer of a side table closest to him slipped open. Harry approached it carefully, before pulling out a key. "This is becoming strange" He muttered to himself darkly, before exiting the room. Harry walked back towards the landing, before the doors of a room he was about to pass flew open, and a small toy truck slid across the floor. Harry raised the gun again, peering around the corner. It was another bedroom, this one having toys haphazardly on the floor in a pile next to a few pages of drawing paper. Harry lifted the top page, examining the picture with a pang. It was drawn by a child of (presumably) his family holding hands. It showed, from right to left, a small boy, a small girl, a mother, and the father. What was disturbing about the picture though was their faces. Rather than the big smile usual to those types of pictures – that Harry could remember from kindergarten, all the figures but the father had scared faces. The father though... Harry dropped the picture, an uncomfortable shiver running down his spine. The father was drawn with thick angry black lines. His face had a demonically angry look, and flames surrounded him. Harry left the room, unnerved. Apparently, this was not an ordinary ghost. The glowing blue woman was back. This time she stood on the opposite wing. Harry again approached, and she again looked up at him, this time pointing towards a door, before fading away. Harry nodded grimly and approached the door, noticing without surprise that the key he had found fit perfectly. The room was bare – the only thing of note being a thick timber board on the ground. Harry kicked it sharply to reveal a hole in the floor – which led to a bar area. Harry dropped down lightly, noticing immediately another newspaper sitting on the table. This one proclaimed "Another slaying in bizarre Ocean Hotel murders!" The doors leading out of the room were all barred heavily; the only immediate exit Harry could see being the dumbwaiter – the two doors blocked by what seemed to be wreckage. Shrugging heavily, he climbed in.

The dumbwaiter lowered slowly, before stopping at a kitchen area. Harry clambered out, pausing as a fry pan fell to the floor. Harry walked over to it, to notice a charred diary. He picked it up cautiously, before flicking through the pages. While much of it was illegible, Harry was able to follow the story relatively well. Apparently a newly wed couple had come here on a honeymoon. However, throughout the stay, the husband had become obsessed with a locket she had. He had become increasingly paranoid that she was cheating – that the locket was from some secret lover. Her protests that it was a gift from her mother fell on deaf ears. The last entry was written moments before she had met with him – he had left a message to meet him. Harry shut his eyes in sorrow.

"Help me." A female voice whispered pleadingly. Harry nodded "I'll release you," He promised, his voice thick. He walked towards the door, but frowned however, as he was unable to open it. He frowned examining it – unlike the others he had forced, this was made of heavy metal and barred strongly. It would take some thought rather than brute strength to get through. He's coming!" The urgent whisper pulled Harry out of his musings, and he looked around frantically. Not good. There were two work benches in the middle of the room, with gas stove tops, and ringing the room were large steel cupboards – filled with all manner of sharp, heavy, or breakable things. This became apparent as a saucepan flew out without warning. Harry managed to duck under it, though caught a platy to the face. He stood up wincing, before his eyes widened, and he threw himself to the ground, avoiding a barrage of knives. The speed of things being tossed stepped up as Harry desperately attempted to defend himself, the gas stoves lit, providing yet another danger. Harry dodged around the room frantically, dodging a barrage of items. He managed to weave out of the way of a particularly large cast iron pan – which promptly embedded itself in a workstation wall, causing it to crumple. That gave him an idea, and he weaved through the room, until he stood in front of the door out. "Hey, you freak wanker!" Harry yelled "You're about as scary as a dog licking himself!" The ghost apparently took offense at that, as immediately an oven wrenched itself from the floor, and flew at him at high speed. Harry ducked out of the way, and sure enough, the oven smashed through the door without stopping. Harry quickly dived after it, as the rate of activity picked up furiously. The room was a small store room, with no other way out except a vent in the wall. Harry kicked it in and dived into it, crawling through the ducting. Only with seconds to space, Harry thought, as a large muffled thump shook the duct. Harry glanced back but couldn't see anything – he guessed the ghost must have got really angry that he had escaped.

"Be careful," he voice advised softly – something Harry could entirely agree with. The short duct opened up room Harry immediately discerned was an elevator shaft. As well as the shaft itself, there was a small indented area with a ladder – presumably for repairs, Harry guessed. Harry dropped through the duct into the shaft nimbly. A threatening rumbling from above gave him warning and he dove quickly into the ladder indent just in time as the elevator crashed down next to him.

"Bastard," Harry muttered, starting to get annoyed. He climbed up the ladder steadily, until finally making it to the top floor; the only one which was open. Exiting through, he found himself in a regular hallway, with hotel rooms all around. Only one room door was open, and he entered. Hoping that he'd finish the task, he searched the room. The only thing he found was a strange item; a piece or what appeared to be root tied with a red string. Holding it in his hand, Harry felt a strange sense of security running through him. He shrugged, and looped it over his neck, before leaving the room. Harry continued through the hallway, stepping around a corner and immediately getting bowled over by a heavy item. "Ow," Harry gasped, rubbing his chest. He had no idea what it was that hit him – it was shattered from the force of impact and lay on the ground – but it had hot him good. He continued through, the light bulbs all shattering as he passed by. He sped up as a low rumbling shook the floor. The activity grew as he continued – doors shattered and flew past him, various pieces of furniture threw themselves at him, but through it all, Harry gritted his teeth and continued on, feeling deep in his gut that he was almost there – wherever 'there' was. At the end of the hall, a sudden rumbling led to a collapse of the ceiling in front of him, preventing him from continuing.

Harry clenched his teeth in frustration, before walking into the room opposite. The room was heavily damaged from a fire – most of the ceeling and the outer wall were missing, making it easy for him to climb up to the next floor and make his way into the hallway above the one he had left. He continued down the hallway, carefully climbing over the collapsed rubble which had blocked his route below, until ethereal fire sprung up behind him. The wall alongside him had a pipe running along with the words 'steam' on it. Feeling that his goal was only past this last obsticle, Harry could guess what would happen, and gritted his teeth. He stood for a second, gathering his nerve, trying to harden himself against the pain which would come, when a strange sensation covered him. Harry looked down at his hands in shock to discover they were covered in blood! "What the crap!" Harry yelled, before realisation came to him. "Oh my god!" He whispered with a grin "A blood shield!"

Harry had spent the remainder of the previous night pouring over the book Straus had left him. While he found some of the theory rather dry – and most of it pretty incomprehensible – the information on Thaumaturgic spells was fascinating. Unfortunately, most of the spells listed required a living target for them to work – and were thus impossible to practice. The only one that did not, was the Blood Shield. The book listed it as a literal coat of blood which covered the caster and protected him from damage. How much protection gleaned depended on several factors – such as how effective the spell was cast, and how much blood was used. Harry had become more and more frustrated as time worn on and he remained unsuccessful in casting it. The most success he had was brief moment of triumph as blood covered his hand – however this was tempered when he realised that he had not cast a partial blood shield – he had simply dug his sharp nails so deep into his own palms that he had cut them open, and blood had flowed out, covering his hand. He had eventually given up in disgust and gone to sleep. Now it appeared that the shield had worked. Harry examined what he could see of the shield critically. It was in no means a strong shield – here and there he could see thinner areas and the occasional gap – but it was a first casting, and would no doubt get easier with time.

Emboldened by his successful thautamurgy, Harry took off running. The first bolt blew, and slammed into the bloodshield with very little effect. The boiling steam gave a brief second of pain, before he was through. The second slammed into the blood shield as well, and again dropped with no damage. The steam however made it through the small break in the shield, burning Harry';s skin. The third bolt slammed through the weakened blood shield, and, from what it felt, cracked a rib. The steam Harry ran through felt like it was cooking him. The final bolt hit the exact same place, causing Harry to grunt and stumble face first into the steam. Harry screamed as the boiling steam burned his face, before he managed to fall forwards out of it, and crawl forwards.

He lay, in tremendous pain, resting for a second as his battered body slowly started to heal. Harry grasped a banister, and painfully pulled himself upright, and staggered through the final doorway. He stopped in shock. The room was destroyed. Indeed, there wasn't even any floor left; after a few paces, the floor dropped away into a gaping burnt hole to show a pile of rubble on the lower floor. "What now?" Harry asked in frustration, taking a step forward. Suddenly the world changed.

Harry was in a room that was clean and whole. It was a luxurious sweet from the looks of it. A small fire burnt quietly in a fireplace. A queen side bed lay against the wall across the room, elegant covers on it. Looking around suspiciously, Harry made his way carefully to the bed. On it, a simple locket sat on the middle of the covers. Harry reached out tentatively and grabbed it. The world changed back. Harry looked around in surprise.

He was now on the opposite side of the burnt out room – on a small piece of floor which had not been destroyed – with no possible way he could see that he could have got there. Shrugging, Harry leapt down painfully to the lower floor, and made his way to the door. Outside the elevator doors opened – through the elevator was on the ground. Harry swung himself carefully out to the ladder, and exited on the lower floor – which brought him back out to the main balcony. Harry leapt over the railing to the floor below, and made his way to the door. He hesitated, instincts telling him to look around, and slowly turned to look back at the glowing women who appeared, a hopeful look on her face. She smiled gratefully at Harry, raising a single arm in salute, before fading slowly. Harry smiled back, before hurriedly leaving as the walls began to rattle threateningly.

Harry squelched his way into his apartment, ripping his soaked shoes off with a grimance and tossed them into the bathroom sink. They stank, as did the rest of him. "Ack," He muttered in disgust as a piece of... something plopped off his shoes and slowly oozed towards the drain. He quickly coated the shoes in a liberal coat of shampoo from the shower, and set the tap on, before stripping off for a quick shower. The hot water was heavenly against his skin, the tenseness of his muscles from the tension of the mansion unwinding. "That's better" He smiled, stepping out of the shower and grabbing a towel. Far more relaxed, he plopped down on his crappy bed and switched on the tv absently.

"... And in international news, more strange occurrences in Britain as another family is found dead, with no signs of trauma or other cause of death."

Harry snapped around as the reporter continued on blithely.

"At a recent press conference, chief inspector Robberts of the London police service said that while the deaths were unusual, no evidence of foul play has been found at that juncture. In other news, the Elizabeth Dane, a cargo ship, has been found abandoned by fishermen in what was, quote, 'suspicious circumstances...'"

Harry flicked the TV off with a sigh. Looks like the war was heating up, if the ministry had failed to cover up deaths. He nodded grimly, flexing his fingers. Well, at least he'd be ready for them when he got back to England. Yeah, Harry thought in anticipation, wait till they see me now.

His thoughts were broken by a sharp hooting. Harry swung around, just in time to duck a white blur, which landed gracefully on top of the TV.

"Hedwig!" Harry smiled in delight. He hadn't seen his friend in some time.

"hoot!" Hedwig replied, clicking her beak sharply.

"Er, what do you mean what happened to me?" Harry asked feebly, stalling for time.

Hedwig hopped to the edge of the TV and stared carefully at Harry, who put his hands quickly behind him, and closed his mouth with a guilty snap.

"Hoot," She said,

"Pale? No it's just cold," He said defensively,

"Hoot hoot?"

"Teeth? My teeth haven't got big and sharp." Harry said, not moving his lips.

Hedwig leveled a stare at him for a moment. "Hoot, hoot."

"Vampire?" Harry asked attempting to feign surprise – badly - "What gave you that idea?"

Hedwig rolled her eyes before silently pointing with a wing. Harry turned to see his wand left on the floor neglected, dust on it.

"Ah," Harry said in resignation, "Well, it's true." He sighed, before looking up at the owl with careful nonchalance "But you don't care... right?"

If Hedwig could sigh, she would have, before silently jumping from the TV and gliding quickly to his shoulder.

"Hoot hoot," She replied comfortingly, rubbing her head against his.

"Thanks girl," He said, blinking quickly as his eyes suddenly felt rather hot and prickly, "it means a lot that..." He trailed off self consciously, before clearing his throat.

"Er, how did you know that kindred can't use wands anyway?" He asked, absentmindedly petting the snowy owl.

"Hoot, hoot-hoot!"

"What do you mean everyone knows vampire's can't use magic? I didn't know that," Harry protested.

"Hooot, hoot?" Hedwig asked tolerantly,

"Well, no." Harry answered "we didn't learn about vampires – remember? Snape had us do werewolves instead."

"Hoot," Hedwig revealed.

"Oh, that makes sense." Harry allowed, before turning to face his avian friend curiously "But why did you read up on them?"

Hedwig hooted again, with a defensive tone.

"Well no, you know I don't mind if you read," Harry said quickly, "It's just, I thought you hated defence books. What about your philosophy books you're so fond of? What's his name? Descartes or something?"

Hedwig shuffled slightly on his shoulder, before giving a slightly embarrassed hoot.

"A change of pace?" Harry repeated, baffled "but you've never enjoyed defence before. Why would you..." Harry trailed off in realization. "Oh," Harry said, not knowing quite what to say. He settled for stroking the snowy feathers gently, and rubbing his own cheek against the owl in a kind of shoulder hug. Hedwig closed her eyes and simply enjoyed the attention for a few companionable minutes, before snapping out of it, with a questioning hoot.

"Oh," Harry said with a toothy grin, "I didn't tell you how it happened did I? Well it all started in a bar..." Harry proceeded to relay the entire story, finding it come easy with a friendly audience that made sympathetic noises at the right times. It was very cathartic in a way, to finally vent all his pent up worries, and by the end he was physically drained, though perhaps feeling somewhat better about himself. "... And then I came back here." He finished with a sigh.

Hedwig stayed silent for a second, before giving a questioning hoot,

"The locket? Here." Harry said, presenting the locket to the owl. Hedwig examined it closely, cocking her head this way and than, before dismissing it with a disdainful click of her beak. "I know," He grinned "Not much to look at, but apparently very important to some." He sighed for a second, remembering the poor girl, before returning the locket to his pocket. "So," He said brightly, forcing the memory out of his head "What have you got for me?"

Hedwig hooted wryly, before picking up a letter he hadn't noticed off the bed with her beak and presented it to him.

"Oh," He said grimly "A letter from our good friend Dumbledore." He sighed, before opening it, and reading it quickly. "Dear Harry, bla bla bla, still no solution for your problems, bla bla bla, everything fine here, bla bla bla, hope you have thought about what you did, bla bla bla, am sending Snape to help you, bla bla... What?" Harry blurt out in unpleasant surprise, which quickly turned to anger "He's sending that git here? Why?" He asked angrily scanning the letter, ignoring Hedwig's amused hoot. "Lets see," He muttered to himself "... 'Can't cure you, however Professor Snape can make a potion to help, and will be a good chance to practice Oculamancy'? What the hell is that old codger smoking? 'Be on your best behaviour, he'll be there in five days, treat Professor Snape with all due respect,' ha! 'he's going to a lot of trouble for you...' What the fuck is this?" Harry snarled tossing the letter angrily. "If that bastard thinks I'm going to listen to that git, Snape, then he's a..." Harry trailed off furiously, unable to think of a word,

"Hoot," Hedwig offered obligingly.

"Exactly!" Harry said victoriously "Then he's a... Hedwig! Where did you learn that kind of language?" Harry asked, biting the inside of his cheek to stifle a giggle in his throat.

"Hoot, hoot." Hedwig said, lifting her nose in the air snobily.

Losing the battle, Harry laughed, sitting down heavily on the bed, bad mood forgotten, "Ah well," He grinned, "I guess I should pay more attention to your philosophy books." Snape would only be a problem when he got here, Harry figured with a rueful sigh, and if everything went right he'd be back in London before the potions master arrived on American soil.

Harry spent another hour waiting for his shoes to soak in the sink in comfortable companionship with his owl. Finally, washing his shoes and putting them back on, he bid the raptor farewell, and made his way back to the Asylum.

"Hello kitten! Did you miss me? I missed you." Jeanette smiled invitingly.

Despite himself Harry smiled back, "Hi Jeanette, yes I did miss you."

"Oh, you're a sweetie!" Jeanette beamed, skipping towards him, "Do I pogo stick through your dreams wearing nothing but a smile?"

"I-er-that is..." Harry stuttered, face going red if it was able.

Jeanette laughed delightedly "Oh, you're such an innocent little kitten."

"Well, what do I do in yours?" Harry asked, desperately attempting to regain momentum.

"Why, what all good kittens do," Jeanette answered with a cute giggle, "You curl up in my lap and purrrrrrr," She stretched sinuously, causing interesting things to happen to Harry.

"Erm," Harry said, desperately wanting to change the subject, "Is Therese around?"

"Oh, that's right," Jeanette said lazily, "She said you'd stop by with something from that nasty old hotel. I'll give it to her as soon as she's back."

"Actually," Harry said carefully, somewhat suspicious of the gleam in her eye "I have to give it to her personally," He shrugged apologetically.

Jeanette's lip trembled as a hurt look crossed her face, "I'm not just some silly doll, you know. I have feelings," she said.

"I know Jeanette, it's not personal, it's just..."

"I'm not some brainless pretty face. I do a lot for this club. Therese is always belittling me,"

"Jeanette..."

"Do you know what it's like to be made to feel like nothing by your own flesh and blood?" She said, near tears.

Harry jerked, that hitting a little close to home, and feeling like a heel, tentatively patted Jeanette on the shoulder, 'to hell with it' he thought 'I'm being a complete asshole. Jeanette is a good person.'

"I..." He started, before noticing the gleam still in her eye. "I'm sorry," He sighed painfully, changing his mind on the fly. "But I can't give it to you. Please understand..."

"Fine," Jeanette said, dropping the act immediately. Harry watched with awe as the near tears vampire became her cheerful self again. "Keep the silly thing." She bounced over to a set of drawers, opening them up and taking something out. "There is one thing you could do for me though,"

"What's that?" Harry asked, interested despite himself.

"There's a new art exhibit opening a few blocks away at 'Gallery Noir'. I need you to go there and slash the paintings." she giggled, handing him a knife. He took it automatically, mouth opening and closing like a fish. "Oh, and there's a bit of money there as well, for charity or something boring, buy yourself a nice new pair of shoes," She suggested wrinkling her nose at his sneakers that, while relatively clean, had retained the colour of the sewer.

Harry opened his mouth to protest, but sighed in resignation at her hopeful face.

"Fine," he sighed.

"Excellent," Jeanette smiled happily, "I'm sure that by the time you get back, Therese will be here and you can give her that silly locket."

"I'll see you later," Harry turned to leave with a wry grin, knowing when he was beaten.

"Ta ta!" Jeanette smiled, before a vaguely thoughtful look came over her face, "There was something about the paintings through... Oh well, I'm sure it's not important."

Harry found the gallery easily - it was actually very close to the entrance to the beach where he had been before. He stared at the door in thought. 'Can't bust the door down with everyone watching,' He thought, 'don't know how to pick a lock...'

"Ah, sorry chief, you're going to have to move along." Harry was pulled out of his thoughts, to see a heavy set, balding security guard.

"Sorry," Harry mumbled, "I'm just, ah..."

"Look chief," The amiable guy said, "I don't mind you handing around, but i got to protect and serve."

"... Of course," Harry said, a fake smile on his face, thoughts whirling furiously, most centered on the keyring hanging from the guards belt "Er, what's it like being a security guard?"

"Well, it's like, security guards like me keep the peace don't they?" the guard – 'Chunk' Harry read with slight disbelief on his name tag – brightened up "I mean sure, police do their part, but we're the real front line in the war on terror. I actually tried to become a cop once..." The man continued.

Harry watched in disbelief as the cheerful guard continued on, and on, and on. His attempts to join the force. His job as a football stadium security guard. His short lived acting career. Harry's patiences wore thinner and thinner, as it became harder to concentrate as Chunk's voice became more and more grating. 'Would you shut the hell up and give me the keys!' Harry thought furiously. Much to his surprise, Chunk immediately shut his mouth, and wordlessly handed over the keys. Harry accepted them, numbly watching as Chunk turned around and returned to his post. Not questioning his good fortune, he made his way quickly to the door, and slopped inside.

There were only four paintings on display, all facing inwards. Harry pulled out he knife Jeanette gave him, and walked over the to first painting. It was entitled 'Cain slays Abel.' The second followed entitled 'God condemns Cain.' The third: 'Cain meets Lilith.' and the final 'Cain slays Lilith'.

The story of the paintings was the story of the first vampire, Harry realised with a start. However, a deal was a deal, and starting from the first, he quickly slashed them. The paintings were obviously defended by a greater force that one inept security guard however, as a wave of red washed over each of the defiled paintings, consolidation in the middle of the room as a red figure. Harry whipped out his gun quickly, before he hesitated. The walls weren't that thick, and he didn't want to start firing off rounds so close to the street. The momentary hesitation cost him and the figure ran in, slashing Harry with its claws. Harry recoiled in pain, dropping the revolved. He quickly dodged another blow, before calling up his blood shield, which responded more quickly this time. He took a second glancing blow while hurriedly casing, and responded quickly by whipping out his tyre iron and bringing it down on the figures head. It hissed in response, hurt, and continued the attack. Harry desperately continued to battle; only keeping up due to the tyre iron and the blood shield. The blood shield finally failed, and Harry backpedaled attempting to gain some room.

The creature snarled, sensing weakness, and attack furiously. Harry desperately lifted his left hand face out – and smiled as a blood strike slammed into the beast. His smile faltered as the creature barely stumbled, before continuing its charge. Desperately, he drooped the iron, and lifted his right hand, firing blood strike after blood strike. Each slammed into the beast slowing it, until, after the fifth strike it finally crumpled. Only a small bit of blood returned to him as the withered hust of the beats struck the ground and disappeared into dust. 'That's right,' harry remembered exhaustedly, 'very little blood returns from a creature under final death.' With the stolen blood speeding up his healing process, slight as it was, Harry quickly walked to the desk in the corner, emptied the till, and casually left the building.

"You!" Therese hissed as Harry walked through the door,

"Me," Harry agreed warily.

"I can't believe that you would dare!"

"Dare what?" Harry protested "I didn't..."

"The art gallery! Did you think I wouldn't find out!" Therese snarled.

"What?" Harry asked bewildered, "Jeanette said..."

" I know what she said! Always working against me.." Therese muttered furiously, her hair flying lose as she shook her head in anger.

"Look, here," Harry said tentatively, hanging over the locket "It's from the hotel." Therese yanked it out of his hands angrily, before tossing it carelessly on her bed.

"It doesn't matter." She said, her voice calming "You owe me,"

""How," Harry protested, "You asked me to get the locket and I did..."

"You also destroyed several million dollars worth of art I was presenting," Therese hissed angrily, "Look, all I want you to do is met Jeanette. I got angry with her when I heard what she got you to do, and said some things I didn't mean... I threatened her. She left. She said she'd meet in the diner across the street. I want you to tell her I didn't mean what i said. She infuriates me... but she is my sister."

"Fin," Harry sighed, "I'll go talk to her."

"Good," Therese nodded with a tight smile, "Do that and I'll call off the feud with Tung."

"Harry swung open the door to the diner and stepped in. The old lady from the day before was gone - must be off shift, Harry reasoned – and the only customers were a group of suspicious guys standing in a group. Harry avoided them, and walked to the opposite side of the diner and sat down. Jeanette wasn't there, but Harry figured that it would take her longer to get here that it did him. After all, he thought, I only had to cross the street. Who knows where Jeanette scampered off too. As he sat, he noticed that the group of blokes seemed to be watching him, and hissing to each other in low tones. His suspicions rising, Harry casually dropped his right hand under the table, and carefully pulled his revolver from his belt, holding it under the table. He kept his head down, watching surreptitiously from the corner of his eye as the group made their way over to him.

"You Harry?" The leader asked roughly. Harry looked up. Humans he thought wryly.

"Yes," He replied simply. The leader nodded, and as one. The group pulled out a variety of guns. Harry however had the advantage of both kindred reflexes and having his gun already drawn, and managed to beat them the to punch. He brought his revolver up quickly, blasting the leader and a second thug in the face with a single shot each, hitting a third in the upper chest, before he was finally hit by the fourth.

The larger caliber nine millimeter hurt more that the stings of the 38, causing Harry's next shot to swing slightly, only hitting the finally thug's arm. The thug moaned in pain and attempted to level his pistol again. Harry leveled his gun first and used the final shot to put a bullet through the thug's eye. Harry stood, smoke wafting gently from his revolver, as the clerk stood petrified. Harry quickly scooped up a couple of the unfired pistols, before glancing up the clerk. "Don't worry" He said attempting a reassuring smile. Judging from the terrified look on the clerks face it didn't work. Harry sighed glancing around the room. Luckily there were no other patrons, and appeared to be no cameras. The only witness was the clerk. Harry leapt across the counter and bit into the clerks neck with a snarl. After a few mouthfuls of blood – enough to heal the wounds he had sustained and erase the clerks memory – Harry let him go, and hopped back across the counter. As he turned to leave, the phone rang.

"Hello?" Harry asked.

"Harry, please help me!" the familiar voice of Jeanette pleaded "It's Therese! She's gone crazy!"

"What's going on?" He asked harshly,

"She sent you there..." There was a struggle for the phone.

"I'm sorry it had to end this way," the cool tone of Therese said "I really had high hopes for you, but unfortunately Jeanette's wickedness had infected you."

"Please save me!" Jeanette yelled as the phone was hung up.

Harry sighed and hurriedly left the diner. The clerk was starting to come out of his dreamy stare, and police sirens could be heard in the distance. If it had been up to him, he would have simply left the crazys across the street – but unfortunately, he still needed the feud called off. And besides, he really did have a soft spot for the unpredictable Jeanette, despite the problems she had caused. 'If not one way, then perhaps another,' Harry grimly thought, 'If Therese double crossed me, well, I'm sure the feud will end with her final death.' With that in mind, he reloaded his revolver, checked the magazines of the two pistols – both full – stuffed the guns in the waistband of his jeans, and entered the Asylum.


End file.
